things you should know
by iamiamjake
Summary: First chap is my take on the letter Brennan wrote while buried alive, and can stand alone. The rest is a story that has taken on its own life, and so far is not exactly happy. Spoilers through season 4 with altered timeline. Set in future, with flashbacks
1. The letter

Parker Booth,

We have only met a few times, you may have some memory of me as Dr. Bones. I work closely with your father, Special Agent Booth. Given this situation, there are some things I would like to express to you, in case you can not learn them first hand. I did not have opportunity through much of my life to know my parents, and often find myself engaging in wild speculation, so I wish to tell you something about your father.

He is a good man, and I see often how much you are on his mind. I do not fully understand his faith in god, or his belief in the importance of emotion, but I see that he wants vary much to pass these things on to you. I think he finds beauty and solstice in these things, and wants you to have them to draw strength from. I believe that he wants and needs for you to know that whatever happens, no matter what form your family takes, you are cherished and wanted.

He speaks often of the importance you have in his life, that he would not be the person he is without you. You make him see the world in a different way, one that I cannot understand, as I have no children.

I apologize if this letter is not clear. As I write this I am not likely to survive the next few minutes. Even if I survive this situation, the work your father and I do is high risk, so there is a significant probability that I will not have a chance to speak to you as an adult in person. There is also a significant probability that your father will be unable to fulfill his parental role as well as he would like, due to his professional obligations. He is an accomplished investigator, and extremely adept at manipulating people. The word manipulate often has a negative connotation; however the net effect of Booth's actions is overwhelmingly positive. He has certainly had a positive net effect on my life, in part due to his attempts at manipulation, along with what I believe is genuine caring and good will.

I hope that you have first hand knowledge of these things, and that this letter is not needed, as I am not resigned to die. If I do die here, however, I hope you can take comfort in this information.

Best wishes.

Dr. "Bones"

aka. Dr. Temperance Brennan

November 16, 2006

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**Hi. I posted an old verson of this last night by mistake. The differences are small. I have never posted anything before and did not see how to preview. Oh well...**

**Reviews are appriciated, good, bad, especially just sharing your thoughts.  
**


	2. finding it

When he first got the letter it made little sense to him, but it seemed important, so he put it in a book he liked, and tucked it on his shelf. That was almost six years ago, a few months after they moved here from DC, just before school started.

He had been going through his closet, getting rid of some of his childish old junk, and some half memory had prompted him to flip through the book. When he saw the brown, wrinkled paper, he did not remember what it was instantly. As he squinted to make out the smudged writing, he tried not to feel the roll of conflicting emotions that only comes in adolescence.

He did remember her, his father's partner. When he was little his dad would take him to that big museum sometimes, and sometimes she would show him neat stuff. He remembered Max better from the museum.

He remembered Dr. Bones from other places also; he could picture her in the doorway of his dad's old house in DC, standing and arguing with his dad in whispers. Bones sitting with his dad at the park, close and quiet, watching him play. Bones sitting across from him and his dad at restaurant, smiling while his dad laughed and nudged him.

It was so strange to read those lines about his dad. Parker knew his dad had been a field agent once, before they moved to Machusetts, but it was hard to picture.

Before he could think any more about it he heard his mom calling that it was time for practice. He slipped the letter carefully back into the book and hid it quickly under his pillow, and hurried downstairs.

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**So is it better to publish these bits as I come up with them, or should I wait until there is more and put up a big chapter?**

**Feedback always appricated.  
**


	3. more questions than answers

Parker did not think of the letter again until he got in bed that night. Hockey practice was exhilarating, both because his team was getting good, and because Michelle had come to watch.

When he brushed against the book in his bed he started to toss it out of the way, than reconsidered.

Reading the letter again he tried to remember how he had gotten it, and figure out where it had come from. The bug guy had given it to him when he came to visit, quickly passed it to him when his dad was in the other room, like it was a secret. Maybe that was why it had seemed important.

The latter said they had met only a few times, but he remembered meeting Dr. Bones many times. His eyes glanced down to the date at the bottom, 2006. He had moved herewith his mom and Drew when he was eight, just after school got out. That was in 2009, and Dr. Bones had come with Max to say goodbye. Later that summer his dad had come to visit, and had ended up staying a long time. It was after Christmas by the time he had gotten his apartment and moved out.

Parker wasn't really sure when Bones, Dr. Brennan, had died, but it must have been around the time dad came to stay with them. He remembered clearly kneeling beside his father in church, knowing that he wanted him to pray for her, but instead he had prayed for god to help his dad hide his tears as he knelt there, so obviously trying not to cry. Parker remembered his father sitting him down to tell him. He didn't remember the words, and he didn't remember how he had found out, but he remembered that he had already known. Something about a car accident, but again, he didn't remember the details.

If he had thought about it he would have assumed she was his dad's girlfriend, but the letter didn't make that clear. He rarely met his dad's girlfriends, but none of them seemed to have the place in his life that Dr. Bones used to.

That got Parker thinking about his dad. He loved his dad, saw him almost every weekend unless he was busy, and sometimes during the week. Parker was certainly closer to his dad than his step-dad, but then Ryan had only lived with them for the last two years, and his dad was always around.

But… Faith in God? Importance of emotion? He used to take him to church sometimes, and always said he loved him, but his father rarely talked about religion, or feelings. He talked about hockey, and about doing well in school.

And all that about an important and dangerous job? His dad was an FBI agent, but that didn't seem to be all that exciting a job. It seemed to be mostly sitting at a desk and talking to people.

As Parker started to wonder just what it was that his father did at the FBI, his mother knocked on the door and told him to shut off his light, it was a school day and he was already up late because of practice.

Parker hastily, but carefully, folded the letter back into the book and shut off his light. As he fell asleep he thought that he really did not have first knowledge of the things in the letter, and that was too bad that, as she predicted, Dr. Bones would never have the chance to tell him more clearly.

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**Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed. As soon as I figure out how to reply, I will. **

**and please don't expect this to update this often all the time. This is a fluke.  
**


	4. A phone call stirs memories, pt 1

**Author's note: will someone please tell me how to reply to reviews? I feel bad that I haven't, but the only way I can see to do it is to leave a message on your profile, and I think there is a better way. **

**Thanks for the input, I'll keep posting pieces as the appear.  
**

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Camille Saroyan hung up her work phone feeling like she had just missed something. Now head hancho of an entire wing of the Jeffersonian institution, Cam sat in her plush office and wondered what had prompted Parker to call, out of the blue. He had asked how Michelle was doing in college, insisted that nothing was wrong, asked if she still worked here... kept the conversation completely casual. Then he wished her a nice day and hung up.

Perhaps more then ever the boy reminded her of his father, of Seeley's uncanny ability to direct a conversation.

Not that they had conversations anymore.

She still tried, once or twice a year. She would call and leave a message, or if he picked up they would talk for a minute or two before he wished her well and hung up. As far as knew she was the only one of the old team who still made an effort, but then she was the only one who had known Seeley longer than they had known Brennan.

She had talked to Parker last Christmas, although it had been a few years now since she visited. She and Rebecca had become friends over that strange few months when Booth had simply shown up at Rebecca's new house and refused to leave.

The whole thing had been surreal. Brennan had been gone for most of the Previous month and a half; first traveling to touch base with various collaborators in the academic world, then back for only a few days before leaving on an important international dig for another several weeks.

During Brennan's absence Booth had been around the lab occasionally, as the FBI still considered him the "official unofficial" liaison to the Jeffersonian. Cam had had dinner or lunch with him a few times, on one occasion even leaving Parker with Michelle while they both went out with some mutual friends who were in town. While at one time she would have been happy to resume their physical relationship, by then she was almost more entertained by the big man's restlessness.

Camille would have bet good money that something had happened between Brennan and Booth in the few days she had been back, but what she really did not know. He never said anything, then or in the years since, and Cam had never pressed, but that energy he always held just beneath the surface had remained at a slow boil for those weeks.

Angela had speculated endlessly about a passionate encounter, tisking that Brennan would keep such a thing from her. Cam thought that was possible, but also believed it could have been an argument, if it was bad enough to threaten the partnership. When she had spoken to Brennan on the phone she had been her usual blunt, businesslike self. Any emotional upset Cam thought she herd could have been her own imagination, but Cam knew that the woman did care for Booth no matter what had passed between them, so maybe she had been upset.

Hodgins had declined to speculate, and Sweets had claimed that whatever he knew was confidential, while looking confused and slightly hurt.

Then, after weeks of a building storm, the thunder began to roll.

Brennan was due back late Friday night. Wednesday night Booth called Cam to cancel lunch the next day because Rebecca had just been given an offer she couldn't refuse on a job in Massachusetts, but would need to start in a week. Rebecca's current man had had just moved in with her and was willing to jump states to stay with her, so Booth had Just three more days before he became an absentee father.

The next morning Cam got word from one of the agents who worked with Booth that the convoy bringing Brennan to the airstrip to come home had been waylaid somehow, and Dr. Brennan's whereabouts were currently unknown, and could she maybe pass this info on to Booth? She had refused, of course, but it had led to a reportedly violent outburst at the Hoover Building. Booth had apparently gotten that message fairly promptly, but had not gotten the following message until hours later. The whole thing had been a miscommunication about scheduling; Brennan had gotten to her flight without incident.

Camille did not see Booth again that week, but apparently he had picked Brennan up at the airport as usual, and brought her by the lab before presumably going home. The security tapes showed them at the lab in the first hours of Saturday morning, bickering tiredly and too close together as Booth followed Brennan around checking on her domain.

On Monday morning the team had joked about it, laughing at Brennan's uncharacteristic absence. No one thought much about the pile up on the express way until Tuesday, when Angela was the first to worry.

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**Reviews, good or bad or just comments, always appriciated. **

**This was originaly intended to just be my take on the good by letter Brennan wrote, the rest is a bit odd, and I'm not sure where it is coming from. It still has quite a way to go, but I am not used to writing.  
**


	5. Sunday mornings

A man walked across the parking lot. His pace deceptively slow, his face blank in the shadow of the early morning sun. His eyes, initially undirected, began to focus. Not on any one thing, but on everything around him at once. When he climbed out of the car he was a middle age man, tall and still in good shape, but tired and worn. Like he went through the motions of life out of habit, only half aware of the world around him.

As he neared the door he seemed to change, like the sunlight was soaking into him and returning him to his proper shape. His upper body expanded and lifted, his steps became firm and purposeful, his face still in shadow. The man who opened the door was still middle aged, still tall, but now had a military bearing. Demanding respect for the restless power he held mercilessly in check.

He entered the range and checked out a weapon. The staff never questioned why he did not bring his own, assumed he merely liked variety.

Before firing he carefully disassembled, checked, and cleaned the weapon. The staff had long ago stopped telling him this was not necessary, it was a ritual.

The power still held at bay, he sent his target to place. As it moved he turned away, seemingly relaxed, but just as it clicked into place he spun without warning and fired four shots so quickly they could not be counted. There appeared to be only two holes in the man shaped target – one dead center in the target on the chest and a smaller one where an eye would be. He contemplated the target for a moment, then raised the gun again, and almost casually gave it another eye.

When he returned to his car later he was once again the tired man, the restless energy either dissipated or hidden once again.

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**Crap. I keep messing up when posting stuff. **

**Although that last paragraph actually went okay there, maybe I should just leave it. But I won't because it is part of a later chapter. (this will only make sense to people who remember the original version of this chapter)  
**


	6. Forgotten Perspective

Monday night, four days after finding the letter.

It had become like a ritual to pull out the letter and read it before bed. Every time there was something else that struck him. He had spent Saturday with his dad, mostly at the rink to practice, than for a pick up game after lunch. It was not an uncommon thing for them, but somehow to the teenage Parker everything about his father seemed different.

his dad was just… Well he was just his dad. It was weird to think of him having some dramatic adventure in his past. Maybe even some long-lost romance, or a tragic mistake at work. To Parkers active imagination the possibilities were endless. But at the same time, this was his dad. His dad who worked at a desk and did back up work for field agents, who barely dated, who was always restrained, and rarely yelled or laughed.

When they went for lunch Parker kept thinking about asking about Dr. Bones, and telling his dad about the letter, but he couldn't think of a way to bring it up. He couldn't remember his dad ever mentioning Dr. Bones after that day in church. Was it because of some dramatic and painful adventure, that made his dad unable to talk about her? Or was it simply that she had meant little to him, and Parker's memories were exaggerated? When he tried to call up memories of Dr. Bones they were always accompanied by his dad, but not the dad he knew. His dad, but different. These were memories of an imposing, strong presence. Of a feeling of joy and safety. He pictured his dad grinning, looking so… well young. Or pictured him tall and tense and dangerous. Protective, comforting, oozing confidence and always in motion, except in moments when he would freeze like a statue to wait for something. Did adults really change that much in six years?

But rather than a conversation about old adventures and long-lost friends, his father only asked about school. And Parker didn't ask, so instead of answers, all he got was a lecture about paying attention to his math teacher even if it was boring.

Now, laying in his bed, Parker tried to imagine his dad, who didn't even own a gun as far as he knew, as a bad-ass field agent.

It wasn't that he had forgotten how his dad had always seemed to be that tallest parson in any room, but somehow he didn't connect those memories with the man he saw when he visited his dad at work. Hunched at his desk, quietly doing back up work for the field agents.

Not that his father couldn't be direct, forceful even, but most of the time he was quiet and a little distant. Maybe he had just seemed bigger when Parker was a child because he had been small. Everything seems bigger from that perspective, right?

Parker knew that his mom's friend, Cam, had once been close to his father. This afternoon he had called her on the pretense of asking about his old babysitter Michelle. Cam worked at the Jeffersonian, so she must have known Dr. Bones. But once again he had lost the nerve to ask, and had ended the conversation abruptly.

There were two other people he remembered from his visits to the Museum: The bug guy, who had given him the letter. and Max. Max was always nice, and for awhile Parker had seen him a lot, and he had taught him all sorts of science stuff that he half remembered. But Parker couldn't remember how Max fit in with the others. He didn't ever know his last name, and had no way of contacting him.

Maybe he could do some research and find out something on his own. That idea appealed to the teen, he could go online and look for news articles from the summer he moved that mentioned Temperance Brennan. Maybe find some sort of obituary of something. Since he know from the date that the letter had preceded her death by about three years, maybe he could look events on that date and see if he could figure out the circumstances under which the letter was written.

Satisfied with a new plan of action, Parker returned the letter to its hiding place and turned out his light.

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**Reviews appreciated, and thanks to those who have reviewed. **

**I haven't written fiction since I was a teenager, but apparently I have a hard time gettin to the point. Oh well, I hope you enjoy the ride. There really is a plot to this, it is just taking some time to get out.  
**


	7. Research

Thursday evening.

This was definitely not what she expected.

She was proud of her son, and overall she thought she had done well for him. She made sure he had outlets for his energy, reminded him constantly that she was paying attention, that he had family around.

Sometimes she thought it was too bad that her son had not really bonded with her husband Ryan, but perhaps it was just as well. She wondered how well he would handle it if the attention of the assertive, sometimes aggressive youth was focused on him. Rebecca loved her husband, but was not sure he would ever be completely at ease with her son.

Seeley was never fazed. Even though he rarely showed his old bullying streak, Seeley was never remotely intimidated by Parker's most intense glare. She was never intimidated either, but in the last few days she was baffled. The normally talkative boy was quiet and withdrawn, and had sought out his father for most of the weekend.

She made herself stay out of it, deciding to trust that if anything was really wrong Seeley would tell her, and most likely Parker would eventually open up to her. There were, after all, things in a teenage boy's life that he wouldn't want to share with 'mom'. And it was not unusual for Parker to spend the weekends with his father anyway, it was just that it was usually Seeley who called to make plans when Parker might really prefer to spend the time with friends. Last Friday Parker had called his dad.

On Monday she had not questioned him when he looked through the address book on her computer. On Tuesday she thought it was odd that he spent all afternoon locked in his room doing something on his computer, but again she said nothing. By Wednesday She became concerned when not only did he retreat to his room immediately after school, but he dismissed phone calls from two of his friends in favor of whatever he was working on. When she called him for dinner he came reluctantly. He ate restlessly, refusing to talk, and started back to his room immediately after putting his dishes in the sink. But then he stopped, and came back down the stairs to kiss her on the cheek and tell her he loved her. Then promptly went back to his room, leaving his speechless mother staring after him.

Something was definitely wrong.

Now it was Thursday evening, and Parker had just left with his father for his team's hockey practice. Given the boy's mood the last few days Rebecca felt only a little bad about invading his privacy.

She couldn't have said what she expected to find in his room, but this was a complete shock. His computer was on, with about a dozen windows open, and over his desk and most of his unmade bed were lines and piles of full index cards. Many had dates or approximate dates, and had sources clearly cited at the bottom.

It was a massive research project, centering on the death of Dr. Brennan. There were notes on the 14 vehicle pile up, on the morning of July 20 2009, and the subsequent fire. There were notes on the articles who's titles proclaimed the death of the best selling author and world renowned scientist, articles whos pages described her lifetime of accomplishments and the conditions of her car when it was pulled from the pile. There were notes on the articles speculating on the condition and reaction of her FBI partner, Seeley Booth, who was known to accompany her to social functions.

There were other sections of notes that referred to Dr. Brennan's ordeal in 2006, and Seeley's in 2008, with a serial killer dubbed the "gravedigger", and to the surrounding investigation. And there was a printout of a picture of Seeley and Dr. Brennan from some tabloid, showing them dressed up for a formal function. They were facing the camera, him on the right with his left arm around her shoulder, grinning like an idiot into the camera while she looked like she was trying to glare at him through her smile.

By the computer was a note card sitting alone. It was attributed to a press release from the Jeffersonian, it was dated August 29, 2009, and said that the FBI liaison agent had been removed from field duty indefinitely due to an internal FBI matter, and was therefore being reassigned.

Rebecca remembered some of the articles. The ones in tabloids in the months after Dr. Brennan's death, that claimed Seeley, who could not be located in for five days following the accident, had been seen at the scene of the crash. That he had removed Dr. Brennan's body for one of a wide variety of odd and unlikely purposes. There was also a variety of speculation about the relationship between the pair, and for the most part Rebecca did not know how much truth it contained.

Even she could not account for Seeley's whereabouts in the day following the accident, but she remembered clearly the morning of the 23, when she woke up to find Seeley making pancakes in her new kitchen. When asked why he was there, what was going on, he had simply smiled carelessly and refused to give any clear answer.

He had made himself useful. He bought groceries, cooked breakfast for everyone, including Rebecca's at the time boyfriend, Drew. And he spent every moment he could with Parker. Rebecca was never sure why she waited two days to contact Booth's boss at the FBI, despite Drew's constant frustration. Maybe it was compassion, or even pity. Maybe it was because Parker was basking in his father's undivided attention. Maybe it was because this man, who had always faced the world head on, done what needed to be done, simply could not deal with this.

He made no comment about his partner, even when her face came on the news. He only stared with a blank expression, motionless for half a minute after the segment ended. When she asked if he was okay he answered not really, with a look that might have been sadness or might have been fear. But he quickly changed the subject, grinning half heartedly.

When two agents, one of whom apparently knew him, showed up on the 26th, Seeley went with them without objection. He went and told Parker he would be back as soon as he could, picked up the small bag which had remained by the couch throughout, looked Rebecca in the eyes and sincerely thanked her for allowing him to stay, and preceded the other agents out the door and to their car. When Seeley showed up again three weeks later she didn't have the heart to turn him away.

Rebecca was almost embarrassed that she had never discussed Dr. Brennan's death with her son. She had been appreciative of the other woman for the effect she had had on Seeley. How the Dr. had helped mend her relationship with her son's father to a place where they could be friends again. She supposed she had known that Dr. Brennan must have helped get Parker into some educational programs at the Jeffersonian as a favor to Seeley.

But Rebecca honestly hadn't considered that her son had actually known her. In retrospect it was ridiculous, they must have met, and now that she thought about it she could remember her son talking about meeting "Bones's" family one Christmas. Something about two Christmas trees.

After the accident she had been more concerned with how to react to Seeley's odd behavior, afraid that that would confuse Parker. But the boy never seemed affected by the change in his father, so she had let the matter drop. The entire situation had put a fatal strain on her relationship with Drew, but in the end that had worked out for the best. With everything going on around it, Rebecca had no idea what Seeley had told Parker about Dr. Brennan, or if he had only now found out about her death.

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**Reviews appriciated. I am not sure I have ever written this much in a day in my life. Definately not fiction. I am an engineer, and writing has been the bane of my career. **


	8. ready to know

Parkers head was spinning.

When his mom pounded on his bedroom door, insisting that he would be late if he didn't get moving, he finally snapped out of his pursuit of the Jeffersonian's archive of press releases. He yelled back that he was on his way, and grabbed his hockey gear on auto pilot.

When he got down stairs his dad was waiting to take him to practice.

"C'mon Park" Booth clapped his hands, "can't leave your team waiting." With a lopsided smile.

It wasn't until they were almost to the rink that Parker thought to connect his dad, who was talking through the plays and tricks they had worked on on Saturday, to the man he had bean learning about for the last two days. It was too much. He couldn't even look at his father as they walked into the building. He couldn't get the image of his father as a younger man, grinning into the camera looking so carefree, out of his head. Couldn't wrap his head around the idea that Dr. Bones and his father had been the subject of tabloids about famous people.

Luckily he didn't really need to. His team had a big game the next week, and practice was intense. He lost himself in the game, and reveled in the physicality of it. Leaving serial killers, car accidents, best seller lists, and FBI "internal matters" behind in the locker room.

On the ride home his father was almost grinning. Praising Parker's performance, his team work and focus. But Parker had realized that the answers to all the questions swimming in his mind were sitting next to him. And he still had no idea how to ask.

When the car stopped Parker hesitated before getting out. Practice had run late, so there wasn't time to go for food before going home, but he didn't want to go without at least attempting to broach the subject.

"If you guys can put up a show like that next week you've got it in the bag."

" Thanks dad." He finely looked right at his dad with a small grin.

Then his face sobered.

"hay dad?"

"Yeah Park?"

He hesitated just a moment with his eyes down, biting his cheek. The car door was open and he had started to slide off the seat. He looked his dad in the eyes.

"I miss Bones"

Booth froze, shoulders back and head up. His eyes held his son's with a rare intensity, and for half a moment he could not speak.

"Yeah…"

"Yeah Park." He blinked.

"Me too."

And with that Parker broke eye contact and left his father frozen.

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**Hope people are enjoying. All thoughts are welcome and appriciated. **


	9. Lingering Voices

Booth returned to his apartment. Dropping his mail on the counter, he grabbed a beer, flopped on the couch, and turned on the TV. A part of him was angry at his son.

The practice had been good. Better then good. Booth had been living in the moment, delighted at Parker's growing skill.

In the car he was thinking of nothing but hockey. At fifteen Parker was hardly Lucky Luke, but the boy had been a pleasure to watch out there. Booth had been happy, feeling nothing but parental pride. Parker's parting comment, like a slap, had knocked Booth from his moment of peace.

Booth tried, well aware of the irony, to listen to that lingering voice that told him it was neither rational nor productive to let himself think about her.

He had not the slightest idea what could have brought this up now. He didn't know how to respond to this shock, from such an unexpected source. Wondered if this meant that it was time, after so many years, to break his promise. To look for whatever answers he could find. To give in to the passage of time and let the past rest in the past.

As he fell asleep on his couch he did give in, but to a different urge. He allowed his mind to drift back, to before everything stopped making sense. To before all the confusion (and lies?). To the collection of moments that still held him.

He thought of their promise, made half in jest, and seeming trivial at the time.

Walking away from yet another funeral, leaving the sole mourner to himself, it had been a moment of simple camaraderie. As they drove away he had returned the promise, and though he had thought little of it at the time, it was a promise he meant.

His mind drifted forward, and sleep found him as he lingered in another precious moment.

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**Can anyone catch the episode reference? or was I too oblique? **


	10. morning after

_His mind drifted forward, and sleep found him as he lingered in another precious moment._

_Early June, 2009  
_

He was drifting toward consciousness, idly assessing if he had a hangover, when she slipped out of his arms and out of her bed. He didn't move as he listened to her quietly move around the room, getting ready for her day. Maybe this should feel momentous, but all he really felt as he lay there was a vague worry that she would leave without saying goodbye. He wanted her to say _something_ to him before she left.

He was starting to worry when she sat down on the bed next to him, dressed and ready to leave. He opened his eyes to see her smile softly at him, so he rolled onto his side and smiled back.

" I enjoyed that".

"Me too". He replied, grinning despite himself at her straightforwardness. It was just so _Bones_.

She still smiled, though her manner was businesslike. "I think we should be… Discrete about this, at work".

"I agree". He didn't try to explain to himself the twinge he felt at her words. He did, after all, agree with her.

"Lock the door behind you when you go, I'll see you tomorrow at the deposition for the ____ case".

He nodded.

She gave him another smile and started to go.

"Hey Bones"

She turned back to him.

There wasn't really anything else to say, but he felt the need to convey something more. He sat up and reached toward her, and when she took his hand he clasped it warmly with both of his.

He smiled warmly into her eyes. "Have a nice day".

She squeezed his hand, smiling back into his eyes. "You too".

They stayed that way for a moment, warmth and affection flowing easily between them.

With a cocky grin they dropped their hands, and she left.

There was a faint nagging in the back of his head saying that this wasn't the way it should be. But this was how she wanted it to be. And really, in this moment, this was the way he wanted it too.

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**This memory is set about the time season 4 ends. I didn't plan to get to this scene for several more chapters, but I sat down at my computer and this is what happened. **

**Reviews, complaints, complements, observations.... all requested and appriciated. **

**by the way, I own the plot not the charactors. I am not writing this for profet, I am writing it to get it out of my head before it starts dribbleing out my ears when I am at work. I am posting it because I have enjoyed what other people post, and it seemed appropriate to receprocate.  
**


	11. phone call stirs memories pt 2

Phone call stirs memories 2

"Hello?!" An abrupt, forceful answer.

"Cam?"

"Ugh, sorry… Hello?" This time in a recognizable, and more civil, voice.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah… Yeah. I was just coming in the door when the phone rang, and my shirt got caught in ...," Rebecca heard the other woman stop herself with a growl, take a breath and let it out. "Rebecca?"

"Um-Hmm"

Before Rebecca could gather her thoughts to continue, Camille spoke.

"What was Parker calling me about on Monday? The only thing he actually asked about was Michelle, but he was after something else."

Rebecca was surprised momentarily, but it made sense.

"Dr. Brennan. He's trying to figure out… I don't actually know what, but… " She sighed. "He's been looking for information on Dr. Brennan's death, and some other stuff about her. About the work Seeley did with her"

"Oh." Cam processed this. "What have you told him?"

"That's just it, Cam, he hasn't asked me. I Just found a bunch of notes about her in his room, he's been reading about her online. " She hesitated, the reason for a big part of her trepidation suddenly clear to herself, "And he spent almost the whole weekend with his dad." Once she started talking the words kept coming. "I asked Seeley to take Parker to practice this evening, I knew something was up, but not what. I found all these note cards in Parkers room. I saw them talking when Seeley dropped him off. Parker didn't say anything when he came in, but Seeley sat in his car for forty minutes before he drove away."

"Ah." That, Camille thought, was definitely a bad sign. Seeley's response to Brennan's death had been disturbing, so much so that she had truly been afraid for him. "Did Seeley… I mean he wouldn't confuse the boy like that…" Cam heard the uncertainty in her voice, and forcefully reined it in. "What did Seeley tell him?"

"Cam I just don't know. I mean, it's hard to believe he wouldn't tell Parker anything that would... But then it was hard to believe the way he acted after the accident. I still find it hard to believe he would just give up and let them end his career and ruin his reputation like that." Rebecca wasn't the sort of woman to become hysterical, but she was upset enough that she had to focus on remaining calm. "What on earth should I tell Parker? I can try to pretend I didn't see any of that, but I need to know what Seeley is telling him"

Cam caught the meaning behind Rebecca's disjointed words. "We don't actually know what happened at the FBI, Becca. Officially there was never anything to report. Booth's transfer was just a transfer"

But she knew better. They both did. After being under review for over a month, three weeks into which he had packed up and left DC, Booth had been reassigned to a desk job in a Massachusetts field office. The question of being cleared for field work was deemed irrelevant, and conveniently never resolved. To the best of Cam's knowledge Booth was not even cleared to carry a weapon. The official reason given to the Jeffersonian was that it was a bureaucratic matter internal to the FBI. Unofficially the scuttlebutt said Booth had lost it, and he was being quietly reassigned to spare his reputation, so that no one he put away could use mental instability on the part of the arresting officer as grounds for appeal or retrial.

The fact that he had never appealed or in any other way contested this had at one time nearly made Cam cry with frustration. Her feelings toward her old friend had fluctuated between worry and anger. Anger that this intense, unyielding, vital man would simply give up and stop fighting, stop living. She could understand why the FBI would not clear Booth for field work. She did not believe that he was actually insane, just acting out with a bizarrely placed stubbornness.

There was no doubt in Cam's mind that Booth believed Brennan was dead. He had made no more than the barest token attempt to get her death treated as a disappearance. He had started to fight for the Micro-legal lab to verify the identity of her remains, but when he was told, by Cam as well as others, that that would lead to conflict of interest, he let it go. Camille could more easily believe that Booth would give up on himself than give up on anyone he cared for if there was any hope whatsoever. And least of all Brennan.

Yet Booth had absolutely and unrelentingly refused to acknowledge her death.

He never said he _believed_ she was alive. He never argued, never rebutted. He seemed to do his best to simply refrain from saying anything at all on the subject, but if pressed he would quietly insist that he did not know. It was so completely uncharacteristic for him that many of his friends believed he must know something. But if pressed he would deny that he knew anything that contradicted the accepted facts.

So what had he told Parker?

With all this running through her head, Cam could think of nothing helpful to offer her friend.

As far as she could ever tell, Booth had never acknowledged Brennan's death. He had never allowed himself to mourn. But Parker had accepted "Dr. Bones's" death as children do. It was simply the way it was. At least that was what Cam had always believed.

"Rebecca do you remember When Parker first heard she was dead?" Do you know how he reacted?"

There was a pause on the other end.

Cam was admittedly taken aback as the voice on the other end of the line took a deep breath and admitted that she had not considered that Dr. Brennan had a role in her son's life. She had never spoken to him about her death. Not ever. She asked Camille if she know how close Parker and Dr. Brennan had been.

Cam thought about it, but was forced to concede that she really did not know how much time Brennan had spent with the Younger Booth.

She and Rebecca had talked at length, during the months Seeley spent camped in Rebecca's living room. They had spoken about the intense and hard to qualify relationship between the partners. Cam had told Rebecca about Brennan's apparently abandoned plan to have a child with Booth, and his uneasy acquiescence, they had both actually laughed at how they imagined the look on his face, then sobered as they wondered what the loss of that might mean to him. Cam Had come to visit a couple times a month then, and occasionally thereafter. The drive wasn't too long and Parker liked seeing his "babysitter" Michelle, who claimed to only tolerate him. Hodgins had even come with them once.

Looking back, Cam could remember eavesdropping on a conversation between the then teen and the then 9 year old on the subject of death. She didn't remember all the details, but she remembered enough to reassure Rebecca that Parker had at least known that Brennan died in a car accident.

"Cam, will you talk to Seeley for me? I dont think he wants anything in his life here to reming him of her."

Cam agreed to try.

"So what should I tell Parker if he calls me again?" Cam asked, feeling the need to wrap up the conversation.

"Just answer his questions honestly I guess." Rebecca sounded resigned. "It is nearly inevitable at this point that Parker will find out what people say about his dad. When he was younger I tried to keep it from him, but it's a bit late for that now. Looking at the amount of research he has done I wouldn't be surprised if he knows more about what happened than I ever did."

"Hmm. " Cam was thoughtful, "You know I think Hodgins was the one pushing most for more investigation. Poking his nose into everything, spouting outlandish theories. He had collected his own set of evidence and notes, and was frustrated when Booth not only wouldn't push for more investigation, but couldnt even hear about it Hodgins' evidence without getting all distant and still. Hodgins eventually backed off, but I wonder if he still has his notes? If they're not too outlandish maybe it would help Parker to see them."

"I'm not sure, but its worth looking into. Are you still in touch wit him?"

"I talk to him sometimes, he still has a workstation in the Micro-Legal lab for when he is in town. I'll see if I can talk to him tomorrow."

"Thanks Cam, that could be helpful. "

"You're welcome. Keep in touch."

The conversation ended, and Camille went through her nightly routine. Once she was in bed she pushed away all the messy details of that summer, and focused on were she was. She imagined that she had company there. In reality she could have, she had had dinner out with her current boyfriend that night, which was the reason she was just getting home when Rebecca called at almost 10, but she had not invited him home with her that night. She was glad. She liked him, and had begun to believe he was worth keeping around, but that night she wanted to just lay there and remember.

Like her memories could remind the universe of how _alive_ Seeley Booth had once been.

She had not loved Seeley in a romantic sense, but she loved the relationship they had. There was something so satisfying about having a man so ardent and full of life look at you the way he sometimes had when they were together. It had made her feel that she was as alive as he was.

She wondered, not for the first time, if Brennan had known that feeling. She was suddenly enthralled by her own mind, and the image took on an almost painful intensity as she imagined what power there would have been between the pair. Brennan, though less overt about it, had been just as alive as Booth, would have radiated that power, that vitality back to Booth as he offered it to her.

In that moment Cam believed she understood what Booth felt, what drove him to refuse her death for so long. In that moment, Cam understood that such a power could simply not be gone.

* * *

**Let me know if there is something needing fixing please. And let me know what you think.  
**


	12. A good shot

Junior agent John Cairn was ready to play with the big dogs. This would be the week. He was starting to get noticed by his superiors, and any day now he would be assigned a role in the field.

Aphorisms filled his mind as he proudly reviewed his progress before checking out of the practice range. He was a damn good shot. He was as good or better than most of the field agents in this office, and knew it because his current desk job included updating records when other agents went to practice.

When he went to check out he stopped to chat with the guy at the desk- Mike? Mark? - oh well, it was something like that. John allowed himself to be just a bit boastful as he let slip how well he did that day. If he stayed on his game like this he was on track to be the best shot around.

The man at the counter (who's name was actually Ted), didn't bother to hide a chuckle at the enthusiastic pup.

"Yer not bad kid, but you got a ways to go before ya ca catch up to Booth."

Booth?

"You must be confused, man, I've seen agent Booth's scores. Some weeks he does okay, but other times he's at the bottom of the pack. Not surprising, really, since he never sticks with a weapon he can handle."

Ted just grinned. Technically scores were not public, but he didn't question the kid's information."

"Uh huh. You wait here a sec, I got something to show you."

Booth was a bit of a celebrity at the range. Some of the staff, mostly the younger ones, thought he was nuts, But Ted could see what was what. Booth came in like clockwork, early every Sunday morning. Sometimes he only stayed for a round or two, other times he stayed half the day, but he was always a treat to watch.

Ted was a good shot himself, almost as good as Booth, though with fewer weapons, and he was a far sight better than the pup. But his military days were over, and he felt no need to compete with youngsters like this, so he never recorded his scores. Because Booth was an agent his scores were recorded automatically.

Agent Booth wasn't a marksmen, he was an artist, but clearly didn't want the attention, so he made up his own shots to keep himself sharp.

Ted pulled out of few of the used targets show the cocky youngster.

Bringing them back to the counter, he motioned John to take a look as he laid the first on the counter. An impressive cluster in the center could have given this an impressive score, but the score was ruined by the four shots in the outer ring (at perfect compass points) and two shots two shots completely outside the target area(incidentally giving the target eyes). Booth had chosen beginner targets, which only counted shots in the marked target.

The next one had an even lower score, with every shot landing in the outermost ring(evenly spaced all the way around)

Ted watched with a grin as the pup's eyes got wider, seeing the stamp on the target indicating its distance. He chuckled as he took pity on the kid.

"Yeah, you could give some of those field agents a run for their money."

* * *

**Thanks for the reviews, I understand now why so many people ask for them. They make my day. **

**Medico-legal lab. That does make a bit more sense. Thanks!**

**This chap is a bit of a tease, sorry. **

**So what do you want to hear next? More of Parker's investigation? More flashbacks from Booth of happier times? More confused recollections from the team? Angela's part will included eventually, but so far most of the team stuff has been from Cam, and I just don't see her as keeping up with Ange after so long. **

**Cheers!  
**


	13. almost reality

Parker rushed to his room, his heart pounding. He couldn't say why really, it was almost like he was embarrassed. Like that time he barged into the bathroom at his friend Sean's house, to fine Sean's sister leaning back against the wall directly in front of him, talking on her phone, wearing nothing but a towel around her head. Instead of apologizing, or just backing up and closing the door, he stood there staring blankly for a moment then informed her that he shouldn't pee while she was there.

At least in this case he left the car, instead of just sitting there until he was told to leave. Parker shook his head, not quite sure why accidentally seeing his friend's sister naked was similar to asking his dad about Bones. He got himself ready for sleep, glancing at note cards as he cleared his bed:

At a little before 6:30 am on the morning of July 20 there was an accident involving 12 cars and 2 semis on rout____, just outside DC. The second semi carried something highly flammable.

The subsequent fire took over eight hours to put out, and it was just over 24 hours before the road was opened again.

There were eight bodies retrieved after the fire, and nine survivors who got out before the fire started. All the bodies, and the victims, were taken to ____ hospital.

He knew that Dr. Temperance Brennan's car was identified and reported on the 21st, but it was not until the 22nd that she was listed among the victims.

He knew that there were at least 3 tabloid articles that implied that she had not actually died in the accident. He also knew that tabloids found a way to do this with almost every celebrity who died. There were outrageous stories that implied his dad was involved, that he was actually in the car with her but had escaped, that he showed up at the scene after her car was found and had to be physically restrained and taken away. Others glorified a passionate and not so secrete affair, or speculated that Booth had only pursued her for her money.

Parker had decided rationally that those tabloids were useless as a source of information, but somehow the images they conjured were enticing. They made him feel like he had been part of something special, like something out of a movie.

Just before he left for practice he had found an article from the Washington post, from early 2007, a few months after Dr. Bones wrote the letter. It described the team that Dr Brennan and his father had worked with. He had only skimmed through it, but so far it was kind of gross.

Hearing his mom talking on the phone, Parker didn't turn off his lights just yet.

He went to his computer. Tabloids sensationalized deaths to make money. Dr. Bones had been a writer. Who was making money off her books now? He had already found the names of her books and publisher. Now as he went to their website and searched publication history of her books he wondered if there was any way to use this for his English report.

He stopped musing about how to make this count for school when he saw the going prices on Temperance Brennan's first two books. There had been no reprints after her death, despite the expected peak in demand, so to this day like new copies were priced like textbooks. The reason given for this among the "brennanites" was that in order for the publisher to print a new run they needed her or her estate's permission. But according some old and unverifiable blog posts she had never actually been declared dead, and in any case her estate was left in limbo.

This actually made it stranger that the tabloid fuss only lasted a month, and was basically nonexistent after the end of August. If it was true that would really have flooded the flames.

Parker was fighting with his eyelids, wanting to find more, when his mom knocked on his door.

"I'm turning my light off now mom." he yelled through the door.

"Okay Park." Her voice was quiet. "Can I come in for a minute?" Now forced calm.

Parker hastily turned his monitor off and found a notebook to set carefully on top of the now collected note cards.

"Uh, Okay."

His mom came in and asked how his dad was, asked with forced casualness if he had car trouble, because he had only just now driven away. Parker almost reflexively turned toward his window, telling himself he would have been able to just ask him if he knew he was still there. He made up his mind to do just that.

His mom asked about how practice was, so he told her. She asked if his dad had been telling him anything, and he told her how his dad showed him how to keep someone behind him from knowing when he was about to cut. She told him that there were a lot of things that happened when he was little that they had never talked about, and that he could talk about it if he wanted, and he said okay, and thought no more of it. The fantastic story he was digging out was more than half a fantasy in his adolescent mind. It was strange enough to see his father as part of the story, it simply didn't register that his mother was there too.


	14. packing

Should I pack for two days? Four? Longer?

Am I just flying down for lunch?

Is it better to look like I expected to stay awhile when I'm not expected to, or to look like I want to leave if someone wants me to stay?

Hodgins was actually glad Angela was gone this month. Maybe she should be involved, but he wanted to know that everyone was ready to put in their piece before he called her. It was too much to bring all this up again unless it was time to finally put the pieces together so they could put it, and her, to rest.

Hodgins thought he knew most of what happened. But not all. He was fairly certain that he knew things no one else did. He had spent two weeks trying to get his hands on evidence, and bribing clerks for copies of reports when that failed.

His reaction to the stress had been to throw himself into trying to find facts. It had been frustrating but understandable that Angela was too distraught to have any patience, but had been infuriating when Booth quietly opposed him. As angry as Hodgins had been, it was nothing compared to Angela. It wasn't until she had walked out that Hodgins got any idea why Booth was acting the way he was.

Even now Hodgins wondered if anyone knew what he did, if Booth had told anyone else. He wouldn't be surprised if Booth didn't even remember. He had been asleep on Brennan's office couch when Hodgins came to have it out with him, and had not moved from it through the whole conversation.

But now it meant that if Cam was right, and Booth was telling Parker about some part of it, Hodgins had a secret weapon to make the asinine G-man talk. He had kept that conversation to himself, hoping that someday he could use it to get Angela and Booth to talk, but by the time Angela was willing to consider it Booth had left. And Booth refused to have anything to do with her, terrified behind that blank sniper facade. Hodgins didn't know what Angela knew, she had never told him either, but it was a good bet she knew something. And that something was the reason Booth had refused to speak to her.

But now he was just speculating.

He settled on three days of cloths. Easy enough to carry, and he could always buy more if needed.

He left a message for Angela in case she called, saying he was away and would get a hold of her in a few days or less. And he left for the airport.

* * *

**Thanks for the comments. Critiques and thoughts always welcome and wanted. **

**Also, if anyone is inclined to beta this let me know. It might be fun.  
**


	15. workdays

Something had changed in the last two days. For over six years he had shied away from the memories. He didn't think about it anymore, didn't justify it, he just lived his life day to day. It occurred to Booth that maybe he was a bit nuts, but he didn't dwell on the idea, he never had.

In the first few weeks after the accident he had slipped sometimes, every part of his life was so mixed up with hers. There was so much he did not know, so much emotion he could not control or even direct. So he latched on to one small, easy, almost trivial thing. And he shut the rest off.

When he woke Friday morning he found that his mind was full memories from those four years, and he felt no need to fight it. He let the memories play.

Outwardly it was like any other workday. He got up, showered, ate, dressed for work.

_Stopping at a toy store, discarding a plush stuffed pig at the last minute in favor of a little plastic one, and the way she looked at him when she accepted it. _

He sat at his desk and made phone calls, compared statements and documents…

_The sound of her voice as she rattled off her findings, as she announced conclusions, questioned his ideas. _

… gave reports to other agents….

_The way together they could play Sweets like a guitar (Piano, Bones, Play him like a piano), and that ridiculous date making clay figures. _

… Reminded one of the field agents to complete the paperwork on a fraud case…

_Lectured him in that overbearing way about everything from personal hygiene to scientific method to God. The tones, gestures, looks, all memorized over a hundred repetitions, a hundred cases. _

… Cleared his desk and headed home, not noticing the odd looks he got from his co-workers…

_Their delight when their pieces fell together to solve a case, and the sound of her voice the few times he heard her sing. _

… drove his now familiar route home…

_The nights of drunken camaraderie after a case. The first time they truly got drunk together was in her office. What started as a lucid conversation about betrayal in her beloved house of reason turned to personal loyalty, then moved on to an increasingly disjointed conversation about fealty, anthropological reasons and personal bias. The time passed so effortlessly, the next thing he knew he woke up by falling off her couch, Angela and Cam in the doorway of her office. Ange laughing her ass off and Cam trying to keep a straight face. _

… As the phone rang he was getting ready to sit at his couch to eat dinner.

Parker wanted to have lunch tomorrow. His mind came mostly back to the present.

"Course, Park. You worried about the game Wednesday night?"

"Nah, dad, we got it. Its just… well, I've been learning about some cases you worked before we left DC. I want to ask you about it."

"Huh." _Back in DC_… Booth's mind began to wander again. "Okay. I'll bring my gear anyway, in case you want to hit the ice after."

_Back in DC_…

"Yeah, dad, we'll see. See you tomorrow then?"

"See you tomorrow Park, love you."

"Love you too."

Booth sat on his couch…

In the weeks after they had sex the first time he was afraid things would be uncomfortable. He was afraid that something would be lost between them, despite the adamant (and intoxicated) statements that had preceded that drunken act. A romantic relationship between them at this time was simply not an option. They still agreed on this, partially for professional reasons, but his main reason was that in the end they couldn't see a long term romance that would please them both. His need for closeness would smother her. Her sometimes peevish reactions would discourage the genuine openness he had started to reveal to her.

So they had agreed, and it had made sense to both of them in their respective languages at the time. This was not a change in their relationship… Yet it was not _just_ sex… The nature of their relationship allowed this because… um…

There really had been an explanation that made sense at the time. It had to do with anthropology… and people… and oh god the way she looked at him…

And as determined as he was not to regret what they had done, he dreaded the discomfort that would come.

But, like a gift from God, there was no discomfort. Sure he thought about it on the edges of sleep. Disjointed giddy images ran through his head when he was alone. But it wasn't the restless frustration, the tantalizing glimpse of forbidden fruit that it could have been.

It was a promise. The smile on her face as she left him was an unshakable assurance that perhaps the future held possibilities that the present would not allow.

He had picked her up from the lab for a deposition a day later, and once he was with her it was no real effort to leave those thoughts in the back of head, and fall into the familiar comfort of their partnership. He hoped it had been the same for her. And still a hidden corner of his mind seethed with pain and bitter fury that it had absolutely no idea how she felt about any of it.

He lay on his couch. A lucid part of his mind wondered what on earth had brought all this up now, and tried to imagine what Parker would want to know.

He drifted to sleep thinking of cases that would impress the teenager. Telling his son about some of their cases suddenly seemed like the best idea in the world.


	16. whispers down the hall

It was late, after midnight, when Parker heard his mom answer the door. Heard hushed conversation as he made his way to peek at the doorway. A man and a woman stood with his mom.

He thought Hodgins might have seen him as he looked, but made no comment. Parker's mom was talking to Cam, their hands clasped.

Parker slipped back upstairs.

He lay in bed, idly fingering the book that held the letter. Part of him was elated, this was a way for him to get answers.

But he couldn't help but feel that they were invading.

Parker didn't want to show anyone the letter. It was his, written for him. Telling about _his_ father. About things he didn't think the people downstairs knew.

Tomorrow he would go see his dad, he would ask why he left DC, ask what happened.

Parker heard his mom down the hall talking to his step dad. And suddenly he remembered, just after they moved, listening to his mom arguing with Drew in whispers.

_Drew was angry that Rebecca just let Seeley sleep on the couch downstairs, wanted to know what was going on, what he wanted. Rebecca told him that Seeley was already having a hard time with the move, at least he was making himself useful, and that she heard on the news that Dr. Brennan died in a car accident. That Dr. Brennan and Seeley had been really close, and Seeley hadn't said anything, but she thought he just wanted to be close to Parker. _

Parker fell asleep wondering what his life would be like if Dr. Brennan were still alive. Wondering if his dad would still have been around, or if he would have been unable to see him much like the letter said.

* * *

**Chapter 15 is finished now, reposted with the entire thing. **

**Thanks for reviews, they make my day.  
**


	17. Saturday

Saturday

Parker was nervous. He felt like he was in the middle of a story, like the people around him were characters created to fill roles in his life.

Hodgins and Cam seemed eager to tell him some things, and it seemed like all night he caught scraps of the adult's conversation, but Parker wanted to hear it from his father. He wanted to know if his father would tell him himself.

But he didn't really think things through. He called his dad to come get him for breakfast. Cam and Hodgins, and maybe his mom, wanted to talk to dad over lunch, but Parker wanted a chance to talk to his dad first. He hadn't mentioned this to his mom, and didn't think to tell his dad that the others were here.

* * *

When Booth got there he noticed the rental car out front and assumed it must be Ryan's. He was actually happy at the prospect of telling Parker stories about Bones and the cases they had worked together. He could start by telling him how they had met. How they had dismissed each other, how arrogant she had been, and how rude he was in return. How she could look at an x-ray and tell him details about a person's life, and about what caused their wounds.

Maybe the beginning wasn't the best place to start. There were so many cases: accidents, jealousy, revenge, situations out of control. How much should a 15 year old hear? It was not lost on him that his partner's life had changed when she was 15, he could probably still get ahold of that picture of her at that age from her parents' file.

As he got to the door he told himself again that he should just let Parker lead the conversation, after all he had no idea what had led to Parker's interest. But he would know soon enough what had led to this, for now he would just answer the boy's questions as best he could.

Booth knocked on the door loudly then walked in without waiting, thinking himself expected.

* * *

Hodgins sat in the kitchen, a little apart from the two women, wondering if this was a good idea. Maybe he should have waited until he could get ahold of Angela. He was a little worried about what had brought this up. He hadn't spoken to Booth in over two years, and that had been brief. Angela, as far as he knew, hadn't spoken to Booth or anyone else here since shortly after the accident. She, like Booth, had not wanted to hear his theories on all the possibilities.

Hodgins knew there were some things that didn't add up, but as the years went on he had come to believe that Booth and Angela must believe that Brennan was dead. Otherwise they would have been right there with him trying to figure it out.

But why now? All this would come up again in less than a year, because after seven years Brennan would be declared legally dead despite Booth's refusal and to allow it using his durable power of attorney. Brennan's publishers had waited long enough to be able print new runs of her books.

Cam and Rebecca had tried a little bit to get Parker to talk, to say what Booth had told him, but the boy wasn't talking. Hodgins was curious how much Booth had told his son. The women were speculating that Booth was ready to clear the air so that he could be cleared for field work again, but that didn't sit well with Hodgins. Maybe, but Booth had submitted himself to five years of desk work, why fight it now? Besides, technically Booth had been under review for an incident at the Hoover building the week _before_ the accident. Hodgins shook his head. Rebecca decided that it would be best if Cam and Hodgins met with Booth somewhere away from Parker and on neutral ground to find out what was up before bringing it up in front of her son. Cam agreed, and Hodgins wondered if they knew that Parker was in the living room and could probably hear their conversation.

There was a knock at the door.

* * *

**Disclamer: I know little about laws surrounding copywrite law, Durable power of attorney, FBE procedures, and a few other things that are not coming to mind at the moment. I am making stuff up to suit my story. Feel free to let me know if I am getting someting wrong, but I may stick with what works for the plot. **

**As always, reviews of any sort are appriciated. I hope to have another chapter up tonight.  
**


	18. office gossip

Gary Harrit had worked at this branch office for twelve years, and overseen it for nearly eight. He was a family man, with no need to see any more field action for himself. He had actually met Seeley Booth a few times while visiting DC on business. Irritating young hot-shot who thought way too much of his own sense of humor. Good man though, good agent. Booth had been known for being competitive as hell over little shit, but when push came to shove Booth was all in, never held back and could hold a team together with the force of his personality alone, as long as he was on top. Everyone thought he was a shoe-in for upper management once the years caught up with him.

So Gary hadn't been too thrilled when he learned that Booth was getting transferred here. Gary had not desire to try to rein in a big dog like Booth, especially after the altercation in the Hoover building that got him put on review.

He shouldn't have worried.

After a month and a half of Review, then almost three more months of leave, Booth finally showed up. Without clearance for field work, without his cocky attitude, and without that squint he had been running around with for years.

Gary was so relieved to get a tractable agent competent to handle phone interviews and paperwork that It was about six months before he put any thought into the rumors that Booth had lost his field clearance because he was nuts. Gary felt no need to look past Booth's stated desire to be closer to his son, and his obvious desire to start over somewhere new after the death of his "partner". And if the other agents snickered at the man, well, it would only disrupt things for Gary to step in. Besides, Booth didn't seem to care about the disrespect of the other agents.

About half a year after Booth had started his desk job there was a case concerning the rape of two teenage girls, one of which had been beaten rather badly. Because the girl who was beaten was a foster child from out of state, there was some jurisdictional pissing going on. So the entire mess had been tossed to the feds on a technicality to simplify matters.

Booth had done some phone interviews for the agent working the case, and fingered a guy named Phillips who lived nearby and was recently divorced. When they brought him in he was a big man, looked like he could have been a hell of a tackle. He was cocky, said he knew nothin', and they had nothin' on him. During his interrogation he decided he was ready to leave and followed the interrogating agent out of the room. Forcefully. The questioning agent tried to put up a fight, but Phillips knocked him over a table. Booth had gotten up to try and help, but had been knocked aside as well. In the heat of the moment Phillips said something incriminating.

Gary had seen the rest from his office. He saw Booth's face go blank as he stood, like something in him had suddenly woken, and called the rapist back in a challenge. Phillips turned back to him, laughing, and took his shot, but Booth was fast. He narrowly avoided the blow, and the rest was a blur. A few minutes late someone found the nerve to call Booth off, and Booth had stood, trembling and slowing his breathing, as Phillips was mirandized.

That night Booth was invited to get a beer with some of the other agents, and after that he was shown a little more respect. Maybe the guy was a bit out of touch, maybe he was crazy, but it was the sort of crazy that you wanted on your side.

It was easy to forget that Booth could be a scary som'bitch if he was pushed. There had been only a few occasions over the years for Booth to show that particular skill set. Mostly he was used for his ability at interrogations, but a few times he had gone out as backup when he was needed, even though he wasn't cleared to.

If stories about him were still told behind his back, now it was with a touch of awe, and sympathy for whatever he had gone through that had driven him over the edge.

* * *

**We'll get back to Parker soon. this is just to tease...**

**Please let me know what you think.  
**


	19. Audio only

**Ya'know, this was bloody hard to get down. I have about eight half written versions of this scene. The next few chapters will come back and give some character perspectives, and some explanation of what people were doing, who was exchangeing looks, etc. But here is the audio only version. Please let me know how it reads.  
**

**I am sorry for the delay, but I live in michigan, and if you know anything about the economy here now, I hope you understand that I must make work a priority when there is work to be had. With any luck for me, updates will be slow for awhile! **

* * *

The front door opens

"Hey, Park, ya ready to go?" (Booth)

"Hey. Yeah, just let me get my shoes." (Parker, hurried)

"Seeley? What are you doing?" (Rebecca, alarmed)

Footsteps toward the kitchen

"Just picking Parker up for breakfast, 'Becca, whats…" (Booth, curious, stops suddenly)

…

…

…

"Hi Seeley." (Cam, calm)

"Booth." (Hodgins, an almost cheerful greeting)

"Hi…

… So, are we going?" (Booth, no inflection)

Movement near the door

"um, lets just.." (Parker, from near the door, gets cut off)

"No." (Rebecca) "No, we all need to talk first."

Another pause, then people and chairs moving.

Someone sits on the couch.

"So talk." (Booth, quiet, no inflection)

"This has gone on long enough. I thought this was done with a long time ago, you to bring it up now than it will be dealt with _now_. It's time to finish this, no more hiding. No more pity." (Rebecca, getting angry)

A tense pause.

"What happened before the accident? What was going on." (Cam, calm but insistant)

"What makes you think I know anything?" (Booth, soft but with a bitter undertone)

"Um, okay…

Four days _before_ the accident you got a message that Dr. Brennan's transport in India had failed to make a stop after passing near an unstable border region. You were suspended pending review for assaulting a superior agent who couldn't give you more information. That makes us think you know something." (Hodgins, frustrated, a bit sarcastic)

Booth snorts.

"Bones wasn't in India. pause Funny you didn't know that." (Booth, cold)

"What? Where was she?" (Hodgins, surprised)

"I. Don't. Know.

I don't know where she was, I don't know where she is. I don't know anything. All I know is that she lied to me.

She lied to me." (Booth, quiet, cold)

Silence.

"So what's changed? Why bring this up now?" (Cam)

A surprised intake of breath. "The letter?" (Hodgins)

Sudden, fast movement. "What the hell do you know about the letter? You don't know she wasn't in India, but you know about the letter?!" (Booth, Yelling, angry)

"What the hell is all this about?! Why _now_? Its time to come clean? Fine. You First." (Booth, going from angry to dangerous)

"I, I have my notes… I don't… (Hodgins, almost stuttering, trying to gather his thoughts)

Takes a breath. "I never got access to any of the evidence, all I have to go by are rumors and reports. I got was copies of what passed for autopsies of all the victims. Only half of them had post mortem x-rays, fewer had tissue samples. The remains identified as Dr. B's were presumed to be hers because they were in her car, if there was DNA, or a more careful examination, it was after her remains were sent to her colleague in Quebec, and I never heard about it… (Hodgins, talking fast, trails off)

"Wait. She lied to you? What did she lie to you about? I mean you two were… You're saying she wasn't in India? Where was she?" (Cam, insistent and sympathetic, not rushed)

A deep slow breath. "I think she was working for the state department. I'm not sure. When she was first consulting for the FBI she was already in deep with some big state department business, but it was wrapped up by the time she negotiated her way into the field. I don't know where she went, but I know she made preparations in case she didn't make it back. The last time I saw her she said she'd explain it when I got back. She said we'd talk then." (Booth. calm now, the faintest tinge of ironic humor)

" I have a few documents, but they don't say much." (Booth)

"Okay. Booth, you go get your documents. Hodgins will start going through his work with an eye to this new information.

Parker? Rebecca?" (Cam, taking charge)

"I want to help." (Parker, quickly)

A pause, people and papers moving.

"Okay then, we'll continue this this afternoon, that gives everybody a chance to think." (Cam, still in charge)

...

"Dad? Did Dr. Bones die in the car accident?" (Parker)

A silent Pause.

"I don't…. All the evidence I am aware of indicates that Dr. Brennan died in a car accident." (Booth)

A moment of heavy breathing, then heavy footsteps, and a door opening and closing.

People stirring, voices trying to find words, then lighter footsteps running up the stairs.

* * *

**Let me (and eachother) know what you think!**


	20. emotional

Well, that could have gone better. At least he had learned some things, but not the way he wanted too. No one had really been talking to him, they seemed to forget he was there, and apparently now he wouldn't get a chance to talk to his dad over lunch.

When Parker came downstairs to go for breakfast with his dad he heard the conversation in the kitchen and realized that there was going to be a problem. He sat on the couch, intending to watch for his father's car and go meet him outside when he pulled up, but had gotten distracted listening to his mom and Cam talking about keeping him away from his father. When he heard the knock on the door he had tried to rush and get out of there, but was quickly forgotten by the adults.

He wasn't sure whether to be annoyed or glad that everyone seemed to think his dad had started this. Hodgins had caught him looking nervous when Cam asked his dad what brought this up, and had obviously remembered the letter, but hadn't said anything. Parker knew from his research that the letter had been written when Dr. Bones was buried in a car with Hodgins, so he would have been there when it was written. It was Hodgins who gave him the letter, and he might have had it the entire time, so it seemed to the teen that most likely no one else knew about it.

The way his father had reacted, though, he must have been thinking of a different letter – there was nothing in Parker's letter to get angry about, was there? The way his face went white and he got so close to Hodgins when he was yelling about the letter was frightening. He really couldn't tell what his dad was thinking, but he could tell it wasn't good. It was a little scary, the way his dad had acted, and it made him wonder if he had done something wrong. Watching his face was like watching a battle fought underwater, you could see the turmoil, but couldn't really tell what was going on. Maybe that was why Tabloids had called his dad crazy.

Maybe there was more to it.

Parker hadn't missed his father's careful wording; 'she died in _a_ car accident' not _the_ accident. So when had she died? He thought no one else had caught that.

Parker lay back on his bed and took out his letter again.

"There is also a significant probability that your father will be unable to fulfill his parental role as well as he would like, due to professional obligations."

Obligations he had left behind when Dr. Bones died.

Was his dad only here because he couldn't do his job without her? Why had he moved to Massachusetts? Did it have something to do with the "importance of emotion?" If so, did his dad draw strength from that decision? The bitterness leaking into his thoughts may have had something to do with being ignored earlier.

Agitated by the lingering question of what his life could have been like, as well as the residual emotion from the earlier conversation, Parker slipped out of his room.

He had only been upstairs maybe twenty minutes, and the adults were still downstairs talking. Parker made his way to the open door of the little library which doubled as a guest room. Next to the door were several file boxes, and a blue milk crate which Hodgins had brought with him.

Parker started fishing through the crate, finding a small stack of disks. The top one was labeled Room 4B, July 26 '09, 3:25 pm. Parker took it back to his room out of curiosity, thinking that he was better off finding facts himself than relying on emotional adults.

* * *

**Thank you much for reviews. please let me know what you think. it is so nice to hear that some of you think the characters are plausible. **

**FYI thereare a few mistakes in the timeline. small things, I might fix them someday. **

**All reviews appriciated.  
**


	21. Unfinished

It hurt. Everything hurt. He did not, could not, put words to anything. Did not allow himself to think. For the last day he had existed in a delusion, allowing himself to dwell on the good memories with an implicit belief that he would follow his memories no further.

But somewhere in the back of his mind he had been working his way to this. So when the questions started all he could think was that it was time. He needed to know now or he needed to forget for real and move on. He didn't even wonder why they had started this, the anger at Hodgins for casually mentioning… mentioning it… had slipped away, smothered by the looming reality that he could no longer live this way. He had spent the last few years as much in limbo as any of the skeletons Bones was so devoted to.

He understood these things without allowing them to form coherently even in his mind. The emotions were real and raw, but the thoughts to describe them would be deep, and he was not a man of deep thoughts.

He was a man of action, so he acted.

He drove home, entered his apartment and shut the front door so he could open the closet behind it. He quickly pulled miscellaneous winter gear off the shelf at the top of the closet, reaching to the back to pull out a plain worn out backpack. He did not allow himself to hesitate, but placed the bag gently on the floor, before striding purposefully to his bedroom. As he opened the top drawer of the small filing cabinet in the corner of the room his movements slowed, almost as if he was forcing himself to move through viscous oil. He persisted, not allowing his hands to tremble, to remove a plain shipping envelope from the back of the drawer and pushed the drawer closed. Once the drawer was closed, the envelope in his hand, he took a deep breath, not looking at the object in his hand. As he let out the breath he turned, moving quickly again, now perhaps more restless than purposeful.

Still not looking at the envelope in his hand, he scooped up the backpack and left his apartment.

He got in his car and, wanting something to occupy himself with until the evening, he headed for a more rural area where a friend lived.

Once on the road his mind wandered again, and he forgot to stop it.

………..

The first time they had been drunk and exhausted. It was the Wednesday of his first week back from surgery. He remembered it in vivid, mostly coherent flashes. Passion, warmth, and something akin to relief, grinning at each other at the inevitable little fumbles, dancing this oldest of dances together for the first time. It was easy not to think, to just go through the steps of a dance they both knew well, it was almost dreamlike.

When she pulled herself from her their shared warmth afterword to use her bathroom he tried to rouse himself enough to ask if he should leave, but he hadn't managed to move by the time she got back. He was indignant when she shoved him to the far side of the bed when she returned, but as she lay down she rubbed the top of one foot along his leg and let it settle there, and rested a hand warmly against his arm.

Exhausted and still telling himself he was drunk, he had felt a sort of shocked wonder at how perfect it felt at the time. Enough contact for a connection without the awkward maneuvering necessary to sleep in an embrace. When he felt her hand suddenly become hesitant and start to pull away he brought his own hand to her arm, staying sprawled mostly on his stomach. He fell asleep that way, with his hand on her arm and her leg against his, and slept so soundly that when he woke he would not have known time had passed except that it was no longer dark, and her stirring form was wrapped up with his still one.

It had been the most natural thing in the world, and in the weeks that followed, although he did not forget, it did not change them. It was not unheard of for either of them to sleep at the other's place during or more often at the end of a hard case. They had even on a few occasions fell asleep in proximity on a couch, but neither had ever slept in the other's bed before. When he first slept in her guest room he had made a point to ask his not so discrete partner not to mention it to anyone, to avoid misunderstandings, but other than that it was something they simply did not discuss. They had what he felt was a tacit understanding that (even though it meant nothing) it was private, and not to be mentioned. And neither was this.

The next time was just over two weeks later, on Saturday afternoon. A bout of silliness and he suddenly realized that he knew that bright wide eyed look of excitement on her face. It was an entirely different type of intoxication. Playful and enthusiastic, he could still hear the sound of her giggling and himself laughing along. The first time had been in a fog, but this time was in the light of day, carefree and open and so, so intimate.

The first time when she left he was left with a sense of peace, but the second time, once again in her bed, he had been left with a sense of disappointment he could not shake.

They had no open cases, and she left in the middle of the next week for some academic super scientist tour that had been planned awhile before.

Again they did not speak of it. The most time they spent together before she left was when he drove her to the airport. He did try to say something, but he didn't know what. His mind had turned to the request she had made to him before his surgery. He had done his part, but after the surgery and subsequent recovery she had not mentioned it again so he had put little thought to it until that week.

By then it had become routine for him to give her his Saint Christopher medallion when she traveled, and this time was no exception. She was quiet on the ride to the airport, friendly, but inclined to talk only about the colleagues and facilities she would be visiting and the talks she would be giving. In a gesture that only served to confuse him more, this time when he put his medallion in her hand once she had gathered her bags, she smiled that excited, proud smile that meant she thought she was doing something socially correct: she held her other hand out to him in return.

She had put her little silver ring, her own family heirloom, on a simple chain similar to the one his medallion hung on.

Her smile faltered a little, studying his face, but she must have found something there that satisfied her, because her smile came back.

She told him she would see him in a little over two weeks, and she left.

It had been hard to put it out of his mind while she was gone. He thought he had done well at going about his life and work as usual. It wasn't uncommon for her to travel, and when they did not have a case together his day to day life did not include her beyond phone calls and occasional lunches. They still talked briefly on the phone just about every day; general updates on goings on at the lab, progress of her trip, nothing particularly personal.

A week and a half into her trip things changed some. She told him that she would be leaving again almost as soon as she got back. She said there was an important project returning to an excavation she had been involved with, before they were working together, an d that she was obligated for professional, personal, and contractual reasons to return for the start of.

There had been something in her tone that had put him on edge. He knew her, and he knew something was wrong. But at the time he had been elated thinking that she was unhappy that she would be away (from him) for so long. It was one of the things that haunted him, knowing that if he had not made that arrogant assumption he could have and would have pressed her to find out what was wrong.

If only he had known…. What?

He tried to stop himself. The 'what ifs' were endless.

Her homecoming had not been what he wanted, and he was almost as certain it had been hard for her as well. She had been aloof, actually avoiding him, for most of the time. When they did finely talk it was one of the more spectacular arguments of their entire association, which was saying something, and it was not resolved before she left.

But that was not something he needed to share with the others. That fight would not provide any information about what had happened three weeks later, and it was not a memory he would _ever_ willingly share. He pulled himself together as he reached his destination, mercilessly smothering the memories as well as he was able.

* * *

**The morning after chapter should be mid may, which, by my timeline in this story, puts Critic in the Cabanet about the beguining of april. **

**Hopefully another Parker chapter by tonight.**

**Reviews always requested and appriciated, hope you enjoy regardless.  
**


	22. interview

The video started with a man sitting alone in a small bare room behind a plain table. He breathed slowly and evenly, not moving. After half a minute his eyes started darting around, his breathing started to quicken. He stiffened, taking a forced slow deep breath as his hands came up on the table in fists, then relaxed as he breathed out.

Parker recognized his father, but somehow in his head this man was the Agent in The Story. Not dad, but Special Agent Booth. He had pushed away the unpleasant feeling that accompanied 'what if', and was again drawn to the mystery.

Two men entered the room. The older one, a stocky black man, maybe in his sixties, entered first and stood at the front of the room, under the camera and facing Agent Booth across the table. The younger man, a white guy maybe thirtyish, sat at the table in front of the older man, looking slightly nervous.

As they entered Booth's eyes followed the older man for a moment, but he pulled them away to stare resolutely into space.

"Agent Booth," the seated man spoke, "please give us an account of your whereabouts for the last five days."

"I've been visiting my son. I put a request for family leave time in with ____ in the personnel department. "

Parker recognized the tone as the same cold voice his father had used that morning, but less tired, more resolute.

There was a pause as the seated man shuffled papers in front of him. He cleared his throat the continued. He asked a few questions that seemed to be about Agent Booth not following protocol when requesting the time off.

Booth looked bored and the senior agent looked annoyed. The young man had the sense to give up on the protocol issue. He glanced at the man behind him, then asked turned back to booth.

"On July 16th, at 2:14 the camera in hallway F4 shows you assaulting agent Kim. You were to attend a meeting at 4 pm on July 20th to determine what disciplinary action was warranted for your actions. You did not attend that meeting. Why?"

"I went to help my son and his mother move."

There was another pause, and the seated agent looked to his superior again.

"You have no other explanation?"

Booth looked him in the eyes for the first time.

"No."

The elder agent snorted.

"Just tell Peters that you were upset about your girlfriend so we can get on with this, Booth."

Booth did not respond.

"I told you nothing good could come of you running around with her, but half the Burro seems to think you can rewrite the goddamn book, so just give him your boohoo so I can get back to work."

"Dr. Brennan is not my girlfriend, Sam, she told you that. And so have I."

The two agents exchanged a look, Sam looking exasperated but Peters looked surprised.

Before peters could stop himself he asked "Did you love her?"

Booth snorted. "'course I love her, that's a dumb question. And its not what you want to know anyway. You want to know if I'm sleeping with her.

You want to know if I'm having an affair that you can suspend me for to explain my outburst without letting it slip that the US army _lost_ a convoy for an hour. "

Sam looked even more annoyed. "It was a clerical error, Booth, get over it."

Peters changed the subject, still confused, Parker figured by his father's hse of the present tense when talking about Dr. Bones.

"Agent booth, when did you leave to visit your son?" Peters asked.

"Early Monday afternoon."

Peters looked behind himself again, but Sam was shaking his head and looking away.

Peters again: "Were you aware of the pile up on route _____ that morning?"

Booth looked down and away for a moment, then looked at Peters with a challenge in his eyes.

"Yes."

"He knows about it Peters.

Booth I'm done with this babysitting. I was trying to help you avoid another round with the shrink. You wanna do this now, or you want them to put you on psyche review as well as for your little stunt with Kim?"

Booth again did not respond.

Sam shook his head and muttered something as he left the room.

Peters tried to call after him, but seemed to think better of it.

He tried not to look nervous as he turned back to Booth.

He hesitated.

"Dr Brennan was a victim of that crash."

Booth stared straight ahead.

"You know that, right?"

Still no response.

Parker watched as the Agent Peters eventually lost his nerve and left the room.

When the door closed Booth leaned his head back for a moment, and closed his eyes. Then he pulled himself back up straight.

Parker figured it he held himself straight knowing he was being taped, and wondered if he had been praying when he closed his eyes.

The video went on for over ten minutes of nothing happening. Parker fast forwarded it, starting to worry that one of the adults he could hear in the house would interrupt him. Eventually another agent came in, but the conversation was similar. His father didn't change what little he said, and insisted on speaking of Dr. Bones in the present tense.

After another period of solitude Dr. Sweets, who was vaguely familiar to Parker, came in. When the baby faced shrink started crying he thought it looked just for a moment like his father would as well, but he did not. His jaw twitched with tension and he sat stiff as he continued to look away.

The video was two hours long in total, though Parker had watched it in about half an hour by skipping through the waiting.

He had saved the footage on his computer and removed the disk, and was trying to decide what to do next when his mom knocked on his door.

He accepted her invitation to come down and eat, slipping the disk into his pocket. As he came downstairs his mother's glare stopped the conversation. Hodgins gave him what might have been a knowing look, but said nothing.

The papers and stuff Hodgins had brought were now sitting near the kitchen table, and Parker figured he could find an opportunity to put the disk back without anyone noticing.

As they were finishing their meal Parker asked how he could help. He thought his mother might object, but she did not so Hodgins began showing him how to read the reports from the various emergency personnel who had helped in the aftermath of the accident.

* * *

**Everyone should thank those of you who reviewed the last chapter, they succeeded in prompting me to finish this today. **

**and as always, reviews, good, bad, neutral... all requested and appreciated. **


	23. talking 1

Booth had decided to talk, and he found that once he started there was no stopping it. He did not mention the more private interactions between himself and his partner, but he didn't try to disguise it either. He just told what he knew.

The entire evening was a jumble of memories that refused to stay in a sensible order. Half the time he couldn't have said where he was or who he was talking to, except that he tried to remember that his son was listening.

Sometimes it was like he was back on the wrong side of an interrogation room. Sometimes it was like he was back in Bones' office, where Hodgins had found him drunk and barely conscious just before he ran away to Rebeccas house the second time.

Sometimes it felt like she was right there, as his fingers found the ring that hung against his chest. Once or twice he caught himself speaking as if to her. It was hard to make himself stop.

There was little the others could tell him that he didn't know, but there was still Angela. And he did learn that whatever Ang knew, it wasn't what he had thought.

The next morning he woke up on the couch, and wondered what year it was, until he saw his son, nearly a man, asleep on the chair across from him.

* * *

**I am not going to try to string these together. The conversations between various people, but mostly booth talking, will be posted as i write them, not in any particular order. Unless stated other wise, the next handful of chapters take place on saturday afternoon at Rebecca and Parker's house.  
**

**Hopefully this will work better than that last chapter. I really don't think I did well writing that, but I wanted Parker to see that before talking to Booth, so I made myself finish it and post it so I could move on. **

**This story writing thing is making me think about stuff I take for granted when reading. I'm glad I'm doing it.  
**


	24. talking 2

"The last time we spoke was the morning of the accident.

She came to my apartment before it was light, woke me up.

She asked me if I love her.

She didn't try to define or explain it. Didn't ask why or what it meant, she just asked if I loved her."

Parker wondered why no one asked what his answer was.

"She left at about six, said she had a breakfast meeting with collegues out near _____ conference center. The accident would have been on the way.

She had already told me that she was not prepared to fill me in on where she had been, it would have to wait till I got back. She said it was mostly done, but she might still need to help with some details, and she didn't want there to be any questions of her breaching protocol.

I wanted to throw her words back at her. I wanted to push her, make her feel like this was about trust between us. I wanted to goad her into telling me. I could have.

But I didn't.

Before she left I asked her what we were. She said we were partners, said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Then she relented, she said she didn't know, but that when I got back we would figure it out.

I didn't want her to leave.

Things had been so messed up.

But we both had stuff we had to do.

So I let her go.

As I was leaving my phone rang, but I was angry. I let it go to voice mail.

I listened to the message right away, but it was just background noise, stuff moving, so I deleted it.

There's a copy of my phone records in one of those piles. That call came at 6:27 am. Five minutes _after_ the crash."

Parker: "But before the fire?"

Did that mean that Dr. Bones was not in the accident? Or did it mean that she had survived the accident long enough to call him before she died in the fire?

Parker started to ask his dad, but looking at his face he saw his answer.

He didn't know. And that had to be part of what was killing him. So why had he not tried harder to find out?

Cam was following another line of thought. "So that's why you wouldn't go back. You took her literally.

Did you ever go back to your apartment after that?"

"No, not inside."

Parker was bothered by this, but he didn't know how to explain what was bothering him.


	25. talking 12

The evening had started with food, to try to ease into things. Booth had gotten there about twenty minutes ago, and had picked a bit at his plate and sipped his way through half a beer. Hodgins was tired of the tension, and decided to jump in before everyone really started walking on eggshells. And anyway, Booth had never been one for beating around the bush, not really, or he would never would have been able to work with the ever direct Dr. B.

"Alright, I say we start with hearing what Booth has to say. The whole story, then we see what we can put together from there. We can handle this, just like any case."

Then, softer, he added "She would have wanted us to treat it like any case."

Booth sat up and looked at Hodgins, his hand resting on his bottle. His eyes hardened and his jaw worked, then he looked away.

"Sure, we can handle that."

"I said it myself. I told her once that we're not sent anything we can't handle. Which must mean that I can handle this."

He let out a bark of laughter. "I wonder if that's inductive, reductive, exductive?" He made another sound that might have started as a laugh. "There's so much to remember. Including cases where she was only listed as consulting, we've worked nearly two hundred together." The strained pitch of his voice disagreed with the certainty of what he had just said.

"Dad?" Parker's voice sounded curios and maybe a bit embarrassed. "Why do you talk about her as if she's alive? Isn't that just… silly, at this point?"

Booth wouldn't meet anyone's eyes.

"Because I promised." The others exchanged puzzled looks, but Booth's face was hard and serious, seeing another place and time.

"A while before the accident we worked… well, we investigated the death of a man who worked at the Jeffersonian. He had been poisoned with some toxic fish that makes you look like you died of a heart attack or something. He was killed by the under taker when he went to embalm him.

When the case was over we were leaving another funeral, and got to talking about it. It was creepy, that someone could look dead, be declared dead, then be killed by the undertaker."

Cam and Hodgins exchanged a look. Booth continued.

"So we promised that we wouldn't believe the other was dead without proof."

There had been more to it than that. Bones had said that she would come talk to his grave, had leaned into him when he put his arm around her. The making sure he was dead thing had been more to lighten the mood. Later, in the car, as they talked more about it, it was still a bit in jest, though he had wondered if she was thinking of the time he had faked his death. He didn't recall when exactly they had done the living will and power of attorney stuff, but it was around that time. He remembered thinking at the time that it would be good for her to have something practical to do if he died. He had not really considered that he would be the one asked to sign papers.

Booth's bitter contemplation was interrupted by the incredulous voice of his son.

"But, dad…." The boy stared at his father looking somewhat scandalized.

"That's dumb!"

The other adults' jaws dropped. Cam swallowed a sound that might have come out as a laugh. Booth's mouth opened. Then closed. He blinked at his son.

"You had some agreement that you wouldn't let each other get embalmed alive so you let everybody think you're nuts for six years? No!

That's… BULLSHIT!"

The last word was said with all the defiant emphasis of a god fearing teen.

Rebecca could only stare at her son. Now she thought maybe Ryan _should_ be here to see this.

Cam drew back a bit, so trying to get a look at Seeley's face.

Hodgins slapped his hand over his mouth to keep himself from cracking up. Damn but it had been too long since there was anyone who would call Booth out. He wondered what Zach would have made of this scene.

Parker was still talking, yelling really.

"There's got to be more to it!?"

Booth took in his son. Chest heaving, the boy looked defiant and a little scared. Booth went over in his head what he had just said.

"Of course there was more." His voice was a bit more intense, more solid than it had been. "There was years of 'more'. But most of it is not relevant."

Cam stepped in.

"Lets start with her trip. How do you know she wasn't in India? We've been back through more than half of this nonsense Hodgins brought, and there's nothing credible indicating she was anywhere else."

Booth got up and went to get the backpack he had brought with him.

**

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**I think this chapter is one of the better ones, let me know what you think. Oh, and please, please don't write anything spoilerish in reviews. this is not just for me, I was reading reviews of another fic and someone put a reference to season 5 in a review. Some of us really don't want to know. Its hard, but theres only a few weeks to go! **

**Alright, I'm off my soap box. Hope you enjoy, please review. **


	26. talking 3

"I knew something was wrong when she left, but there was a lot going on and I didn't… I don't know, I just didn't pay enough attention.

There was a letter. She had set it up so if something happened to her I would get it. When the convoy got 'lost' I got a letter she had left for me. It was actually in a case file, mixed in so no one would see what it was.

It had already been a bad week, getting that letter… I don't know, it was like…"

He remembered…

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**Sorry for the delay. One more within the day, maybe a few within the week. **


	27. talking and remembering

_He remembered…_

Thursday of an already hellish week. He had found out the day before that he would have to deal with his son moving three hours away with some new asshole who Rebecca chose. Bones would be back the next day and he didn't know what would happen, what had happened. They had not been on the best of terms after the fight they had when she was back between the trips. She hadn't called even once, though it may have been because of where she was in India.

The first thing he did when he got to work was to go to the personnel office in person to request family leave. They gave him some bullshit about scheduling priorities, and needing to show adequate blahblahblah to qualify for emergency family leave, and that his son moving "only" a few hours drive away was hardly an emergency. He carefully convinced them otherwise.

So he really wasn't in the best of moods when he got to his office.

There was a blank file folder on his desk, and he picked it up and absently flipped it open, a bit confused when he saw his partner's handwriting on a case he didn't recognize. He flipped back to the front, his already agitated mind taking a full minute to make sense of what he was reading.

And then he couldn't breathe.

"I hope that it will make it easier on you that I am simply unable to return than if I was killed while working with you. Given that I am, or was, on another continent you cannot hold yourself in any way culpable for …"

It was a goodbye letter.

As the realization of what he was looking at sunk in he flashed from an overwhelming sense of disbelief to an equally overwhelming and unfocused rage. It sought a target.

_Someone_ was responsible for this.

Someone had put this folder on his desk. Someone knew what was going on because there was no way in hell that this was real. He had the sense to put folder in the side of a drawer before he stormed out, years of handling evidence made it automatic to make sure it was safe.

The restless energy and anger had found an outlet, as Booth viciously questioned anyone who caught his eye. He did restrain himself once he registered the shock in his co-workers eyes, and their stuttering distress and confusion in answering his barrage of questions.

"Oh… yeah Booth, there was a message too." Looking as much baffled as intimidated, a seated man pulled a scrap of paper and squinted at it, which drew an involuntary shudder from Booth. "Looks like… says 'convoy in western India failed to make check point'." He looked at booth and tried to hand him the scrap of paper.

Booth just stared for a moment, his eyes jumping between the man's face and the scrap of paper. Then he stepped forward and took it. He read it quickly and looked up, he stepped forward further to loom over the other agent as he spoke, his voice starting quiet and low.

"This is it? Nothing else? Who left this here?"

It was a bit of a blur, but he eventually got that someone from the 4th floor intel section had dropped it off.

O reaching the fourth floor he was a bit surprised that no one had followed him, and had to start all over. His frustration not exactly in check, but held back in favor of actually figuring out what was going on.

For the life of him Booth never could remember what Agent Kim had said that had set him off. Kim was a stickler for rank, and technically was Booth's superior. Booth wasn't impressed. He later learned that he had only actually hit Kim once, then grabbed him by his shirt, shoved him against a wall, and when he did not answer Booth's incoherent questions, literally thrown him aside. By that time security was there, and Booth regained a bit of awareness to the extent that he stopped fighting and confined himself to yelling questions while the security guards tried to make him listen to them.

It was several hours before the mess was sorted out. By the time it was decided that an inquiry would have to wait until Monday, Booth had finally gotten the other half of the message. Brennan's convoy had followed a detour around a damaged road and missed a check point. They had still gotten to the airport almost on time, in fact the situation was clarified before Booth had ever gotten the first message.

Booth didn't mention the folder. He had only picked out enough to realize what it was, and had not gotten to the part where she was sorry for not telling him where she really was.

That he read at home, several hours later. Just over a day before she would be back.

He called Rebecca, too tired to fight, and told her that he would be there on Friday to help pack and on Saturday to see them off, but he wouldn't be able to come with them until after next Tuesday.

There was nothing for him to do but wait, without a course of action and with only a sullen but unextinguishable faith. Faith, not that everything would be okay, but that giving up was simply not an option.

He slept.

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**comments? Questions? **

**Hope you enjoy.  
**


	28. chemistry

Hodgins kept his mouth shut.

He could see Booth struggle to find words to relate the facts of events he probably remembered mostly emotionally.

Hodgins did not know the details of the relationship between Dr. B and Booth, and when the team had been together he left it alone as none of his business. It was obvious m the start that Dr Brennan had liked the challenge of sparring with Booth and had eventually come to trust him. Hodgins had come to trust Booth too after he realized that despite being a fed he would look for the truth.

He had, as a rule, not worried too much about other people's private lives. But it still did not escape his notice that Brennan and Booth were a lot alike, and that between them they had formed a stronger bond than would have been predicted.

Like a dimer of macromolecules, the presence of the other allowed a subtle shift in multiple pie bonds to form covalent bonds at sites that wouldn't have seemed reactive without the polarizing influence of the other.

Far stronger than simple van der waals forces, they were bound by a sharing of electrons that could only be seen indirectly, by the changes in reactivity to outside elements; they stabilized each other because each completed the other's partially filled shells.

Of course it wasn't actually electrons and partially filled orbitals that held them together, it was emotions and shared goals, put the principle held.

But now Booth was being called on to recount those emotional memories, to shift the bonds and activate those sites that had only _ever_ been reactive with Dr B. But he was to do it without her to stabilize them.

Realizing this, Hodgins suddenly felt truly sorry for the man.

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**Um...**

**So this is what happens when I try to write after work. Please tell me that at least some of you find this amusing. **

**I will try to write the Hodgins perspective of the actual story next, but no promises. **

**please review.... especially if you like chemestry. **

**Or if you hate it .**

**Or if this has changed your perspective on it....  
**


	29. talking 5

Booth said his piece, during which at first there were interruptions and questions, but after awhile the others became quiet. Parker stared, seemingly unable to look away. Several times Booth lapsed from a coherent story into his half of a conversation, or asked questions that seemed directed to memories or to his former self. When that happened Parker would draw back just slightly, and swallow with a look that was familiar to anyone who had seen his father distressed. It was clear that Booth wasn't really aware of his surroundings half the time. He would start to tell part of the story, but as the words started to flow it was like he was re-living it.

Booth repeatedly cut himself off when he started to mention private moments between himself and his partner. He would be silent for moments, his face continuing the story while he forced his lips to be still, until he bulled himself from memory to come back to a pertinent part of the story.

Anyone who didn't know better, namely Parker, would have thought they had been lovers for years. That the things he edited were the intimate moments of lovers.

Maybe that wasn't far off, but those who knew them then were caught by curiosity. Those private moments between Brennan and Booth, which all of the adults had witnessed from time to time over the years, the quiet conversations, occasional hugs, the way they looked each other in the eyes and leaned in close. It spoke of something shared that was as private and intimate as anything that passes between lovers, and yet it when others had been privy to these moments the words had been intimate perhaps, but still commonplace. Conversations about motives of killers, or evolution, or dress code. The fact that Booth either could not or would not express what passed between them in those moments was significant, but there were varying opinions on what it signified.

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Hodgins knew that they had been lovers, but only briefly. He remembered Booth's tortured confession when he found him laying on Brennan's office couch just before he left DC for the last time. That Brennan had shown up at his place, come to his bed, like she was saying goodbye but he didn't realize it at the time.

Back then Hodgins did not think that had been the morning of the accident, but really he should have. He had asked Booth, who was saying more than he had since it happened, if that was the first time, and Booth shook his head, blinking back tears. "Three. It was the Third time. The first time was Wednesday night, the first week I was back after my surgery." Hodgins had no response. "That was the only time she stayed."

Hodgins had wanted to ask more, to take advantage of the situation to find out if Booth had really shown up at the site, and where he had been for the week after, but his phone rang. Booth had already been half way to passed out, probably not aware he was talking, so when Hodgins turned back to find the FBI agent out cold he was hardly surprised.

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**thanks for reading, reviews appreciated. **

**Thanks especially to iamladyliberty for sharing your thoughts and to NiBiZzY for giving an alternate opinion! Courage to respectfully disagree should always be applauded, and is not being an A$$hole. **


	30. listening is hard

Parker didn't know what to think. It was like bringing this up let out the crazy. He didn't know what he had expected, maybe some dramatic story, the ones that movies showed as a montage of flashbacks with a voice over and dramatic music. He hadn't considered how this would work in real life.

He certainly hadn't been prepared to see his father struggle with emotions, hear his father talk like he might really _be_ crazy.

First the story would come out, almost in a monotone, with pauses while his dad tried to remember details like who was there and what order things happened, but then he would go off in these weird rants like he was talking to someone who wasn't there.

The story itself was hard to understand. He didn't really say what his relationship with Dr. Bones was, but he would start to mention something she had said, or how she reacted to something he said, and twice he got this odd little smile. Parker had heard his dad in the video say he loved Bones, but that she wasn't his girlfriend. Maybe he was lying.

It was strange too to hear his dad's account of the day they moved. Parker actually remembered that, although he mostly remembered Max. He knew his dad and Dr. Bones were there too, but Parker had been more interested in showing Max his toys and neat things about the building he lived in. That made Parker wonder again who Max was. Of the people his dad had worked with it was Max who had spent the most time with him.

But he put that aside, trying to follow the story. Trying not to think about how his father sounded.

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**Sorry for not updating, no promises but hopefully it won't be so long again. **


	31. dreams

**RATING: I think this chapter rates a T. Not for sex, any sexual content is implicit.**

This chapter is not necessary to the plot, so don't worry about skipping it if you don't want to read graphic bits. There will be reference to events herein later on, and I will make sure they are explained then.

Anyone who has an opinion on rating please let me know, if no one wants me to keep it K+ I will probably up the rating to T, but if it is wanted I am content to leave it as is.

**This is set late Novemberish of 2009. As a refresher Booth went to Rebecca's house immediately after the accident, was brought back by his boys, then went back to Rebecca's a few weeks later. So at this point he has been sleeping on her couch for several months.**

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A man dreams.

He dreams of a little girl with brown hair and striking pale blue eyes. At first in the dream it's not clear if this is the future or the past. The little girl, maybe three years old, plays in a sandbox. She is completely engrossed in the structure she is making out of sand and sticks, until she turns and smiles joyfully, displaying her creation.

Then she jumps up and runs over to a barely adolescent boy with curly blond hair, who shies away in affected annoyance at her grubby hands. The boy relents and follows the girl back to the sandbox as she speaks to him excitedly.

There is no sound in the dream, and the pictures are choppy and fuzzy, like they were being captured on an old home video. The boy glares briefly at the camera as he tries to maintain his aloof demeanor in the face of the little girl's childish joy.

Joy.

The vague contentment of the scene faded with the scene. It was replaced with a vast numbness, and nothing but darkness surrounding him.

Slowly he became aware of his surroundings, as if his eyes were adjusting to the dark. With this new awareness came a numb sense of self which he hadn't quite realized was missing from the last scene.

In front of him was a mass of twisted metal. A small mountain of pain and destruction. In the way of dreams he saw and felt the wreck without details. The panic, confusion, terror and pain of those souls struggling to free themselves, and of those to all sides of him frantically trying to help. No one noticed him, as if he was not there at all. But even in the dream he knew that his soul could be nowhere else.

He stood, still and passive, as the sounds and emotions washed over him like the thought of a tidal wave; immensely powerful and yet completely intangible.

His eyes found a single car, mangled and crushed in the midst of the tangled mess. She was inside the car, her side to him as she struggled with an unbelievable calm to free herself. From where he stood he could not see what trapped her, only that she was still in the driver's seat. Her seat belt was undone and her attention was on something below the middle of the dash.

When the flames suddenly erupted, a cars length or two away, she turned her head to look. He saw the first wave of fear wash over her, even as he saw her analyzing, calculating her best course of action.

She turned back to her task, her movements urgent but under control, her hands seeking a new angle, a useful tool…

Without moving he was standing beside her car, the fire now almost on top of them. He did not look down, but knew he would see her right leg crushed and pined at mid thigh by the crumpled front of the car. The area in front of what had been the passenger seat was completely gone. Still he stood impassive, his eyes fixed and his face still.

She looked at him now, as the flames lit everything with a panicked flickering. They picked out details of the blood on her cheek and left shoulder, the unnatural way she held her left hand; her pinkie and ring finger bent and useless even as she continued using her delicate thumb and index finger to work at the catch on the seat, trying to make it slide back in hopes of freeing herself.

She saw him.

Her face showing relief and urgency, she reached for him, called out to him. And showed confusion before fear when he did not respond.

The roar of the flames drowned out her words, the flickering light distorting any words he might have been able to see on her lips. He stood unmoving as the twisted metal screamed and the world dissolved around them in burning chaos, and the edge of panic took her as her hands reached within inches of him.

And within the fire he stood frozen and watched her burn.

His dream-self felt only numbness, but somewhere behind his eyes he screamed and fought with a primal passion beyond words.

His awareness pulled back into his own struggle. His own hoarse, panicked crying drowning out the fire. His thrashing, mindless with fear and pain, was against more than just the bonds of his dreaming mind.

Rebecca rushed downstairs. The sounds coming from her living room were somehow recognizable as Seeley's voice, yet were barely recognizable as human.

She could not have said if she was more afraid for him or of him as she reached the landing and he came into view. It had been maybe 30 seconds since the she woke up to screaming, and she was there in time to see him throw himself from the couch to the floor, the screaming subsiding as he thrashed on the floor fighting his blankets.

She could see his face as he won free and came to his feet in one motion. The fierce flash of triumph, the deadly urgency erased by confusion, then a slow horror as his mind woke. He stood there in t-shirt and boxers, illuminated by streetlights outside, his eyes wide and fixed, his breathing ragged, his body trembling in fits and starts that he seemed slowly to be bringing under control.

She knew he had nightmares, but had never seen him wake from one like this. Glad there was no sound from upstairs, she approached him as he sat back down on the couch. Hands clasped and elbows on knees, his eyes fixed forward and down, his entire body stiff and never quite still. She hesitated as she came beside him, and felt an instant of fear as his head snapped around to face her. But his eyes found hers, and he recognized her.

"Where is she, Becca?

I have to go to her. She's….

She needs me."

His dark eyes drilled into her. His voice was harsh and quiet.

Then he faced forward, rocking slightly. His voice dropped to a whisper.

"I have to get to her."

Rebecca sat down beside him. Wrapping her arms around him, she tried to offer some comfort. For long minutes she held him as he tried and failed to stop shaking, to relax his harsh, uneven breaths.

Up to now he had been unwilling to accept any sort of comfort, so she was surprised as his hands found her. Hesitant at first, than with an intense and familiar purpose. She stiffened with surprise as she recognized his intent, then pulled him back to her, slightly amazed that even in his current state he had paused at her sign of surprise.

And she was surprised, but if this was a comfort he could accept than she was willing, and encouraged him to continue. Her body responded to the urgency of her old lover's touch, and she could not be sure that she could have kept herself from moving with him.

Afterward he eventually seemed to come back to himself, but she held him to her when he would have pulled away. There, tangled on the floor of her living room, he buried his face against her and she held his shaking body until he finally slept.

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**please review. **


	32. They would not have told a child

I think that night was the first time I was included as an adult.

I was allowed to see actual autopsy reports and reports from emergency personnel, with the addition of professionals in those fields clucking at how poorly done they were. I got to hear my father's account of the day we moved, including all the interactions between the adults that had been lost on me.

I got to hear how my father had secretly bribed and coerced his state department contacts to get him information on operations in El Salvador that may have included Human remains. How he played on their pity, never trying to explain himself, allowing and even encouraging the belief that he was unstable so that they would think they were humoring him and not look into it further, just in case she _was_ involved and needed to stay hidden. He had gotten some clues from her goodbye letter, and I think something in that letter convinced him that trying to find her would put her in danger, even though he had gotten the letter by mistake before the pile up she reported to have died in.

He never did let anyone see his letter. It was not in the backpack full of documents and CDs that he gave to Cam and Hodgins, but I think he had it with him by the way he would shift when he mentioned it. He did say that she told him in the letter that it was unlikely that she was alive if he had received it, and that even if she was alive that she would be safest if he acted as if she was dead, even without proof. That was one of the times that his narrative broke down.

I remember his rant kept coming back to marks on people on if they faded, and how they were made. He would start a sentence and stop himself. I now know that he was using private references he had in common with Dr. Bones, and that he was stopping himself because he couldn't let himself share anything to do with those private memories, but at the time it just sounded insane.

That night they talked openly about warlords and genocide. Dr. Bones had been, not in India, but somewhere else, possibly El Salvador, helping the state department prove that bodies in mass graves were killed in a way that could not be seen as collateral damage of war. She was, according to what could be read between the black lines on the documents dad had, using remains to develop detailed scenarios of massacres with which to confront the perpetrators in front of the International Court of Justice.

I don't think my dad knew what she was doing, even after he got the papers. It was Hodgins who got that from the documents. He nearly got giddy over the idea. He actually had his foundation follow up on it months later, saying it was a fitting tribute to his friend to see that that work was continued.

But that work had been mostly done years before, before Dr Brennan met my father. The purpose of the last trip was not clear from the documents. It was some sort of followup, and obviously something went wrong, but no one there that could say what.

But I was, and to tell the truth still am, confused about what could a car accident have to do with generation old wars on another continent. It was even stranger that they didn't seem to be keeping track of the fact that wherever Dr. Bones had been, she had come back.

I was the one who pointed out that something must have triggered the letter getting sent to dad, and it couldn't have been the checkpoint in India if she wasn't there. I think my dad was proud of me for noticing that.

It came out that there was another set of documents, in a folder in the backpack, that were sent to my dad here at mom's house, anonymously. They were from November of 2009, and included an coroner's report of a victim of a different car accident, and what I later learned were forms regarding the secret service's version of the witness protection program. Dr. Brennan's name was not anywhere on them, but the implication was clear even to me.

I'm not entirely sure how much I actually understood that night, but I already knew a lot, and I filled in the rest of the details in the weeks that followed, so it seems in my memory that I learned the whole story that night.

I tell this as if the events were all together, but really there were hours of reading through documents, as well as side conversations. Three conversations in particular I remember quite clearly, but I will get to that later.

When they didn't think my dad was listening the others would talk about her, tell stories. Sometimes they started to seem sort of joyful, which bothered me at the time, but I now recognize as healthy. Hodgins and cam had both been close to Dr. Brennan. My mother had not known her well, but had respected her, and I think had thought of her as family in an unconventional way. They had mourned her and mostly moved on, and having this chance to share good, and sometimes odd, memories was a sort of closure for them.

It was different for my dad, who had never really allowed himself to move on. He had tried to in superficial ways, but somewhere in the back of every decision he made was the need to accommodate her eventual return. He had never allowed himself to mourn. Instead of closure, talking about her was like opening tightly bound wounds.

For me it was different to, because, while Dr. Bones' death had been a fact to me for nearly half my life, the idea of what might have been was new. Her death was not a new fact, but my loss was. Loss of someone who everyone seemed to think would have been like a parent to me. Loss of Max, who had quite clearly decided he was my grandfather, and who I believe would have kept that role if my dad had let him.

Perhaps most of all, loss of the man my father had been. The man who had expected, consciously or not, to share the rest of his life with her, and didn't know what to do with himself when he was left behind.

And the belief that was growing in me that my father had only stayed with me because she had gone where he could not follow. That, no matter what anyone said, my father wanted to be with _her_. That raising me was a consolation prize.

I find it sort of fitting that it was bones who made me feel better about that.

After my father had fallen asleep on the couch I went up to my room. Only Hodgins knew about the letter then, and I still didn't want to tell anyone else. Especially not my dad, at that point.

I took it out anyway, and as I read it I felt like she was showing me what she meant by her words. It was a profoundly spiritual moment, and I will probably not do it justice here, but I will try to explain.

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**Hope you enjoy, Please let me know what you think. Particularly, is this too repetitive? **

**It seems like I keep saying the same things over, but its coming from different perspectives.  
**

**This is a blatant set up for the next update, sorry about that. **


	33. Confrontation

In a parking garage, underground. A tall man walks slowly, head down and possibly talking to himself. He is dressed in a rumpled suit, but other than that he could be taken for a drunk who'd managed to get his fix early today.

Another man, older and not as tall, approaches the first from a land of cars to the side and does not slow as he reaches him. He reaches out a hand as he reaches him and strikes his shoulder, turning him so that they face each other, with only inches between them.

The older man speaks loud, fast, angry. The words have no clear meaning.

The first man has stopped walking. His hand reaches up to clasp against his chest. His eyes remain downcast and see only his own mind. He does not acknowledge the assault, and breathes as though it is a chore he would rather not bother with.

The assailant talks louder, faster. He asks questions and steps forward to strikes the man again on the shoulder in frustration when he gets no answer.

The man stumbles two steps from the blow. His body automatically finds balance again, without help from his consciousness, which still seems far away.

The older man angry, yells in the others downturned face.

"That's it then? Now you are so much of a coward ...? You sit here wallowing in your selfishness? You don't even try to get to her.

Everything I did I did for her, and you do nothing to find what happened to her? My daughter is worth more than that, and if you don't know that you're not half the man I thought you were… she thought you were. "

He strikes the man again. He grabs the man with both hands. Pushes each shoulder back with a hand. He pushes hard, looking like he might be using this dramatic but mostly harmless violence to hold back from something more damaging.

At being shoved harder the younger man steps backward and sideways. He falls against a wall and his legs crumple, dropping awkwardly to the floor. His head moves as he falls, but his eyes still do not acknowledge his surroundings.

The older man continuing yelling, but subsides as the younger fineally moves.

Sitting up slightly, his head moves back and forth vaguely before suddenly pulling his posture straight and raising his head to lock his eyes steadily on his assailant.

"I can't give it to you. "

"What?"

On the ground the mans right hand is still on his chest, and it tightens around something he has pulled from his shirt. His hand opens slightly, and he looks down at something glinting in his palm.

"I should give it to you, everything says I should. But I can't. "

He pauses, and the older man does not reply.

"I have to keep it until she comes for it. That's the deal, just like always. "

He lifts his eyes again, and almost focuses on the other's.

"I keep it until we trade back."

The older man is still. He trembles, his face is blank and hard, no trace of sympathy for the nonsense he sees before him.

In a flash of movement the man on the ground draws a cumbersome revolver from his cloths with his left hand and flips it offering the grip to the man standing above him. His eyes are steady now, certain.

"Take it."

"Take it. You are right, I should go to her. "

A moment passes. Emotion seeps into the older man's expression and he takes a step back. The younger man half rises, moving the gun's grip closer to the other.

Pain, anger, confusion and denial chase each other across his face, until the older man turns and walks quickly away. Twice he looks back, but his steps do not slow.

The man yells once as he stumbles to his knees, still holding out the gun.

"Take it!"

He sinks back to the ground, breaths in. Breaths out. Breaths in. Pauses. Stands and breaths out.

For long moments he stands still and looks at the gun. Minutes pass and he does not move.

Eventually the stillness is broken by approaching footsteps and conversation. Two women and a man approach talking casually.

He dose not look in the direction of voices, but the gun disappears.

The man walks on through the parking lot, neither fast nor slow. Nothing shows on his face. His steps are even, his breathing normal, his posture neither stiff nor crumpled.

He will live in this world. He will walk and drive and take each day… He will not remember, he will not look to the past. He will not show the world that his soul is lost to him.

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**This is a revised version of this scene, hopefully it makes a bit more sense now. The two men are Booth and Max Keenan. **


	34. Not Crazy

**Hi all. sorry for the last chapter. The scene was so clear in my head, but it came out as crap, maybe I will re-write it someday. Sorry for the long time between posts, this story is not forgotten, but other than possibly one or two more chapters in the next week or so it will likely remain on hiatus until summer. **

**This chapter is intentionally a bit choppy, as conversations sometimes are, and I know the tense is a bit odd, but it didn't seem right to fix it.  
**

**I hope you enjoy, feedback is greatly appreciated (and I promise to reply to reviews this time), so please please share your thoughts. **

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Booth had stepped outside to clear his head, and Parker followed him. He had wanted to talk to his dad this morning, but that seemed like a lifetime ago. His dad knew him though, whatever else was going on.

"I'm not crazy, Parker."

"you sure dad? Because you keep talking like…"

Parker gestures, unsure what he wants to say. He's not sure if he means it as a joke.

Booth looks at Parker, really looks at him for a moment. The teen looks withdrawn, maybe even angry.

Booth shakes his head.

"I'm not crazy" he says it quietly, but with certainty. "They all want to talk about it. To talk about her." It is a statement of fact.

"Yeah. And I want to hear about her. What's so wrong with that?

"They are ready to move on, Parker. They want to put it to rest and move on, like a wake. I can't do that." He shakes his head slightly. "I can't let it go."

"That doesn't make sense, dad. It's not like you forget stories by telling them. I read about wakes, the whole point is to feel close to the dead person by hearing other people's stories about them. It seems sort of right to me. It's irrational that you won't talk about her, if she was so important to you. Y'know, you not talking about her made me think for a long time that you didn't think about her. And I wondered sometimes but I never asked because I couldn't think of a logical reason for me to know.

He realized he was rambling about the same time he saw the odd look his dad was giving him.

Booth is torn between bemused wonder and old heavy grief at hearing that sort of talk from Parker. There's an impulse to mutter to her under his breath – Damn, how is it that my son talks like you sometimes? - but he knows that's not something Parker needs to hear any more of. He knows that he has been giving in to that sort of impulse all evening, speaking under his breath as if to her, his way of trying to keep her close when the others are pushing her away.

It has merit, the idea of feeling close to someone by telling their story. That was what they did, after all.

He almost gets lost in that thought, thinking of how when they sat together over a case it was like between them they could invoke the presence of the victims. But he had spent enough time dwelling on that lost magic. Now he needed to make his son understand.

"I never talked about this stuff. Bones and I, we were close, but we rarely talked about it. And we never talked about it to anyone else. Not ever. It was something between us, and no one needed to know."

"so…" The boy wasn't sure what his dad was talking about. "So you were secret lovers?"

"What? No." But then he laughed quietly at himself. "Well…" He sighs and pauses, looking his son in the eyes to show that he is not drifting again, just trying to find words to explain.

"We worked together, closely. Off and on for a couple years, then all the time for about four years. We weren't… We were partners, we didn't… I mean, right at the end, but… Hell for the first few years we weren't even friends." Booth's gaze has wandered again, starting to get that distant look.

"soo… That means what, exactly?" Parker was irritated now, needing reassurance he wasn't sure he would get. "You didn't love her?" The talk inside had been more about travel plans, not relationships, about some documents his dad got that showed Dr. Bones was working for the state department and was not in India. Documents that said someone who might have been her was in witness protection but was killed along with a man in a car accident on a state route in Wisconsin on December third 2009. The name of the man and which state route they were on when they were hit by a semi were blacked out, along with whole paragraphs. As far as Parker could tell, the only reason this might be bones was that someone had apparently smuggled a copy to his dad.

"No." This Booth says with certainty, pulling Parker's attention back. He takes a deep breath, runs his hand through his hair and holds his hand out in a 'give me a moment' gesture. He runs his hand over his face one more time, takes another breath, and when he looks back at his son he looks clearer, calmer somehow.

"I love her. Never doubt that, but we were not having some secret affair. You remember I had surgery that spring?"

Parker nods.

"Well it was _after_ that that things changed between me and Bones. It wasn't a secret, exactly, but some things are private, Parker, and we needed to figure things out between us. I can't say what we were to each other besides partners because we hadn't decided that yet." As he speaks Booth forces himself to stay focused on his son.

It has not quite occurred to Parker that Dr. Bones could have been reluctant to date his dad. In his mind she was attached to him.

His ideas about adult relationships mostly came from his mom, who had always been open with him about men she dated, and about his step-dad. Even though his dad was less forthcoming than his mom, it hadn't been a secret when he was dating the mother of one of his classmates last year, or that woman from work awhile before that. He couldn't really see why dating Dr. Bones would be different if it wasn't a secret affair.

At least his dad was talking to him now, Parker's thoughts settled some. Maybe this was okay, maybe this was the way to hear the rest of the story. Maybe his dad was holding back talking about some sex thing, that was what grownups meant when they talked about dating usually. Well his dad could tell him now, after all he was 15, not a kid, he knew what sex was.

"Did you have sex with her?"

Booth opens his mouth to answer, but then huffs, somehow switching to 'dad' just in time. "Parker, you're a little young to be asking about …" he gestures again.

Parker draws himself up, teenage pride affronted. "I'm fifteen, dad, I have hair under my arms and everything. I know plenty more than you think." So maybe making out with Tina under the bleachers a few weeks ago wasn't quite sex, but it was close enough, right?

"Parker, sex is a big deal." Booth is completely sidetracked, pulled back again to the present by his need to act as a father. He grabs for a likely name. "Have things with Tina gone that far?"

Parker is affronted that his father knows the name of the girl he was thinking about. On some level it does comfort him that he pays attention, but it is not enough.

"You first dad. I won't tell you unless you tell me." It is a challenge.

In the last week of delving into good memories Booth has been reminded of Bones' unshakable and often uncomfortable honesty. Of how she disapproved of the white lies parents tell their children. Maybe part of being a parent was telling Parker about private things so he could learn. Bones would probably have something to say about that, about anthropological reasons for showing children cultural norms or some shit. He chuckles softly.

" You know Bones would see nothing wrong with telling you. It's funny that after all this time I still think of her reaction to everything. It's like I want to see her so much, to talk to her again, that I try to guess at what she would say in any situation." Booth is still looking at his son, but misses the growing tension in his features.

"But the thing is that no matter how well I knew her she could still surprise me." He smiles a little, does not see the growing anger that Parker is trying to keep off his face.

"We did have sex, make love, three times. It started just before she left on the first trip. I told her when she was back between the trips that I wanted to be with her, but she didn't give me an answer. There was so much going on when she came back, we didn't talk. Then she was gone."

Parker is silent for a minute, he has heard everything his father said, but registers only that his father will tell him only what he thinks Dr. Bones would want him to know. Parker believes he has his answer, the only answer that matters. His father still cares more for a dead woman's preferences than for him.

"So that's it, huh? You can tell me because you think it would be okay with her? " Booth finally picks up on the anger in Parker's tone. He is nearly yelling now, though not in a way that his voice would carry.

"What about what is okay with me? Did it matter that I wanted to know, did it matter that maybe you're a grown up and can have sex with whoever you want? Maybe I didn't have sex with Tina, but I didn't call her back all last week because I was busy, so maybe I never will?!!"

In some sense Parker is aware that he is not making sense, but he cannot quite bring himself to accuse his dad of not loving him. He is angry and finds whatever words he can. Having nothing else, and not wanting to try to untangle whatever it was he had just said, Parker sputters briefly, then turns away from his speechless father with a disdainful snort that even through his hormonal outburst he can find no justification for.

And again Booth blinks in surprise, with no idea what had just happened. Parker walks away before he can follow the change in the boy's train of thought. Booth can't stop the words that come out under his breath.

"Dammit, Bones, that's what I get for listening to you."

* * *

**Til next time, review requested and apriciated as always. **


	35. A boy's dream

Mom brought a blanket and made my dad lay down on the couch, Hodgins and Cam were set up in the spare room. I went to my room and lay down in my bed, weary and angry and not knowing what to think.

I got out the letter, but did not read it. I practically had it memorized by then, and wasn't sure I wanted any more to do with this woman who, in my mind, my father cared for more than me. I looked instead at the paper. I'm not sure if I realized it at the time, but I know now that it was a blank page ripped from her own last novel.

The page was wrinkled and smudged with dirt and what I fancied was blood. I drifted in a fantasy of Dr. Bones and Hodgins huddled in a car, writing notes by the light of the car's overhead.

Jerking myself out of the image I realized I must have dozed, because I couldn't hear anyone moving around the house anymore.

I got out of bed I put the letter back and wandered out of my room. I went downstairs and sat in the chair in the living room across from where my dad slept on the couch. As I sat there, looking bitterly across at my father, I thought again of Dr. Bones stuck in that car. About what could have been going through her mind that she wrote this letter, her final words, to me. I must have drifted off thinking about it.

In my day to day life I do not believe in ghosts, or in spiritual visitations, and believe I simply had a dream. But I cannot deny that there was a feeling to that dream that I find hard to believe came from my own subconscious. It remains, whether real or not, a profound experience.

She came to me that night. Looking at me with a focused interest, examining me. She asked how old I was, and how school was. I told her about math class and she scoffed at some detail of how my math teacher explained the use of the quadratic equation. In a weird part of the dream, which seemed unsurprising at the time, I was sitting at a table in a kitchen I did not recognize and she patiently taught me how to solve quadratic equations. It made a lot more sense the way she explained it, laying each step out and explaining why it worked…

She did not ask about my dad, but when I said anything about him she would smile or frown slightly, depending on what was said, and bring the subject back to me. She did not act motherly exactly, but like an affectionate mentor, wanting to pass on whatever learning I could use.

It is hard to remember specific words from those conversations, which seemed to cover every aspect of my life. But I know that I woke as the sky was just starting to get light with a clear understanding of why she wrote her last message to me.

She had actually said it in the letter, that I was important to my father, and she wanted me to know. Somehow she had seen my fear that he did not love me, although her reason was that he left me for work. She sought to tell me by examples that his thoughts were with me even when he was not.

More than that was the realization that she wanted to do something meaningful for him, and the most meaningful thing she could think of was to help me. Whatever their relationship, there was no doubt that to be part of his life meant to be part of mine.

The understanding that whatever relationship my dad had with her did not push me farther from him, only brought her closer to me as well. Her quiet certainty, if only in my mind, provided an assurance that even as an emotional teenager I could believe without question.

I fell back to sleep calm, feeling no jealousy in the hope that my father felt her presence in his sleep as well.

* * *

**Sorry for the extended hiatus. I have dreams of completeing the entire story before osting, but that hasn't happened. I keep arguing with this story about where it is going, but it refuses to change course. ****Sigh. **

**I intend to add chapters soon that will actually further the plot. There is just one more after this covering this day, but I might not post it before moving on with the rest of the story and answering all the pile of questions. I also think of trying to get someone to beta, but havn't tried. Someone offered awhile ago in a comment, I never followed up. **

**Also, I posted a new version of chapter 33, in the parking garage. Hopefully it is somewhat better. **


	36. uncomfortable conversation

**conversation between Hodgins and Parker - this comes immediately after chapter 34, when Parker comes in from talking with Booth.  
**

"Hey, Parker…"

Hodgins does see the anger on Parker's face. He has no good idea how to approach, but has a theory to confirm so he pushes on.

Uuuh, ..So, you remember the museum better than I knew…

Parker just looks at him, he's not being stubborn, he really doesn't know how to answer the question.

"Do you remember that summer camp you came to? I showed you guys Drosophila melanogaster life cycle examples under the microscope?"

Parker actually smiled and made eye contact. What he actually remembered was himself and the other kids torn between snickering and getting caught up in the bug guy's enthusiasm for flies.

"Actually I do remember. I've been reading about the medico-legal lab, it reminds me of things. "

His voice drifts off and he looks down as he says this, suddenly wanting out of the conversation and to just be alone. The house suddenly seems stiflingly full.

Hodgins ignores the boy's discomfort, hearing an opening to bring up his real question.

"So… You've been reading about us? Do you still have Dr. B's letter?"

"Do you know what it says?" Parker's answer is abrupt, coming before his surprise at the question registers. He looks down and almost stammers a retraction, so surprised is he at his own reply.

"Uh, No. I never read it...

What does it say?" Hodgins' somewhat tentative question.

"Just... Just stuff about my dad I guess..."

Parker doesn't want to answer, the question tickles anger at the back of his mind, at the question and at the fact that he answered. That letter is _his_. But Hodgins knew him as a child, so despite the feeling of inclusion he had earlier in the evening, and despite his self image being basically adult, he feels a child's compuslion to answer an adult's question.

He fights the compulsion, stepping back slightly.

Hodgins starts to step forward, body language matching his desire to know, but catches parker's change in demeanor and restrains himself.

"Well, is there anything you want to know?" Hodgins tries to balance curiosity with respect for the boy's privacy.

Parker is still overwhelmed, his mind wants to retreat, so he looks down after flickering eyecontact, shaking his head.

Hodgins nods. His face still curious, but mentally and physically backing off slightly.

"Okay then..."

Parker turns and starts to walk towards the stairs.

Suddenly he turns back, his expression open and bordering frighteningly on entreaty.

"Uh... who...

Who's Max?"

"Max?"

"Yeah, Max, the teacher from the museum."

It takes Hodgins a brief moment, then it clicks.

"Oh, Max. Brennon's Dad?"

They stare at each other, neither knowing where to go with this conversation. Then Parker grunts and makes a uncertain gesture, turns away and heads for the stairs.

Hodgins is saved from too much consideration of the conversation by the ringing of his phone behind him.

* * *

**well ... i'm back. **

**I've got a rough outline of the last dozen or so scenes in this, and have stopped fighting with the plot. **

**Anybody want to Beta this, as much to keep me going as anything...?**

And, of course, reviews (including flames) are welcome.


	37. Progeny

The story forms bit by bit in their minds. She had been called up by an international investigation into war crimes. She and her evidence were to be foremost in allegations presented to an international tribunal. For her own safety (and under penalty of international law) she was not to communicate these facts to anyone. Especially not her FBI partner or any other government official not already associated with the tribunal.

The research had been thought concluded some years before, but a new mass grave was found, and she was called to return on a weeks notice.

But her change in behavior had another possible cause. Angela's phone call had added a piece of the puzzle. Hodgins passed it on to the others.

* * *

Angela didn't tell Hodgins exactly how she found out. Didn't want to admit to going through Brennan's appointment book. She hadn't meant to, really, just knew that her best friend was holding out on her and wanted to learn why. The appointments at the fertility clinic written in neat type, in a red pen. appointments with her publisher were in blue, scheduled meetings and deadlines at the jeffersonian in black, and social events in a dark green. But Angela had noticed not only the color of the red entries but the handwriting. To her artist's eye there was an intense, forced tone to those letters; it was like when Brennan spoke of having a child. Like she was trying to convince herself not the world that this was a rational decision, that it was not a twisted expression of a passionate love she insisted on denying.

There were 3 appointments, each on a Wednesday morning. The first was the week Booth awoke after his surgery, the others each a week after. Angela had seen the entries only the week before Brennan left for the first trip, and had gotten no confirmation or other information from her hints in conversation. Angela had not gotten the nerve to ask directly, had been hopeful that Brennan had or would work this out with Booth directly.

* * *

Parker overheard the conversation from from the unlit hallway outside the kitchen. He didn't know what prompted him to hesitate in the doorway, but found himself stepping back so not to be seen.

Apparently his father shared his reticence, for he appeared behind his son as Hodgins was telling Cam and Rebeca about Angela's call, and stayed just behind to eavesdrop with him. As Hodgins' meaning became clear to Parker he looked over his shoulder at his father to see his reaction.

Booth was not surprised. His anger seeped on to his face, simmering but still contained.

It seemed that he knew, or suspected, that she was pregnant before she returned from the classified dig. Booth was not forthcoming. He had indirectly admitted to a sexual relationship, but had done nothing to clarify the reason for his anger.

Anger at infidelity if she got pregnant while away visiting 'colleagues'? Anger at intentionally conceiving his child without his consent? Anger at her excluding him from responsibility for a child he fathered? All were all on the list.

Anger at god and the universe for taking her from him mixing with anger at her. Grief at her death mixing with guilt at his own anger.

Parker did not follow his father when he turned and walked away, grinding his teeth, stepping silently in the hush which followed the end of Hodgins' explanation. Parker stayed to watch the reactions of the others.

* * *

On learning of the appointments, Cam stiffened in sudden realization. She turned to the crate of files and grabbed the folder smuggled to Booth months after Brennen's disappearance. She rifled through the papers, and after finding the one she sought she peered between the blackened sections, the color draining from her when she verified what she hoped she had mis-remembered.

"This woman," Cam indicated the file on the unnamed woman in witness protection who might have been Brennen.

"She gave birth no more than two weeks before this toxicology was taken."

* * *

**AN: I need to say that this was always how this story wanted to go, But I never liked the idea of a pregnant Brennan, so I kept trying to find some other way to take this story... Got no reason to resist it now...**

**Reviews requested. I am plagued with self doubt, and feedback to either reassure me or point out specific aspects I can attempt to fix are always appreciated. **


	38. The Marks we Leave

**AN: sorry this has been so confusing, taking such a long hiatus I get myself confused about what parts of the story have come out yet. I'm trying to make everything hold together and get the plot finished, and I'm not positing things as soon as I write them. I'v written an outline and am holding off posting written chapters until until chapters which come first are done... this is a bit of a trial and error process. Part of this was actually one of the first parts of this story written - but I was trying to find a way to make Brennen not pregnant, so I didn't post it.  
**

**It's a strange thing, trying to tell this story. I have never done anything like it. I am trying to find an order to present information when in my head the story is fairly complete & complex. **

**Thanks to all who have followed this, and any comments or pointing out errors and inconsistencies are _greatly_ appreciated. **

* * *

In searching for info on Dr. Bones he had sent several emails. One to a publisher, one to a literary magazine, and several to people who's names appeared with hers in scientific publications.

He had tried to frame these emails impersonally, stating that he was a high school student and that he was working on a research project. Both true statements regardless of the incorrect implication. He had received replies; links to news articles and formal statements from the publisher and one academic, a gushing but not useful email from the literary zine, and a rather strange set of references from one of the academics.

As people were waking up that morning he went up stairs and looked through the work he had been doing. He found an email in his inbox from a name he did not immediately recognize.

* * *

- Sabir's point of view -

The email Dr. Valange forwarded to me was quite a surprise. I found myself reading my journal from that time, reminiscing about the terse anthropologist who provided a way for this lost young laborer to go to university in Egypt.

...

_She is thorough, nearly tireless, and respectful to the remains we are retrieving. I do my best to be a willing assistant; to follow the curt orders of this woman. I ignore the taunts of the other workers, because she is accomplishing so much. She may be the only person in the world who can help me to give them peace. _

_I do not believe that she knows that among the remains we sift through may be all the family I ever knew. If she knows, she has never indicated it, and that is a relief to me. What matters is that in the two weeks she has been here we have retrieved the remains of 40 individuals, more than we had been able to in the two years since we first found this site. It turns out reporting it to the foreigners was a good idea. _

_Some of the other workers here have expressed their condolences to me for being assigned as her assistant for the duration of this retrieval, but I find I do not mind. For an American she is refreshingly straightforward. She states her requests clearly, makes no unreasonable demands, and doesn't begrudge the time it takes to communicate on occasion. Her Arabic is worse than my English, but we are both relatively fluent in French, so gaps can sometimes be filled in that way. _

_She makes no personal statements, and is professional in all things that I can see. She does not ask personal questions. She has no hesitation speaking her mind about my faith, but her occasional probing questions feel like professional curiosity given an opportunity for study, rather than personal judgment. The closest she comes to personal exposition is when I ask about the small Catholic pendent she wears despite being an atheist. She replies that it is significant to her not because of its religious iconography, but because it has sentimental value to its owner, who asked her to keep it for him as an illusion of a guarantee that she would return. _

_I can only presume the Catholic man she mentions is the father of the child she carries. It is a woman's matter, and even with a western woman I cannot speak of it. I wish I had not noticed, as I believe she does not speak of it even to the women. I think she has not carried a child before and needs the knowledge of women. In any case she is leaving soon, so I hope her mother or sisters will help her with this when she returns home. I find myself strangely torn by this. I have never wished to be part of the women's world, but I do have some understanding. My sister's husband was killed months before the rest of them, and she stayed with us. Hers and her unborn child's are some of the remains Dr. Brennen identified. I have the odd idea that if I could speak to Dr. Brennan of her pregnancy I would be helping my sister pass her knowledge. To pass the blessing of motherhood, so cruelly withheld from her, to this western woman who has given them peace. _

_...  
_

I was devastated when I heard that she had died, and prayed for her and her unborn child. Then, the next day, I received the letter of acceptance from the University at Cairo, with full funding for my undergraduate education.

Dr Brennen had set it up before she left the country, and never said a word to me. I like to think I understood that, she had told me she believed I had promise, and inquired if I would be interested in an internship with her. It's funny looking back, her meaning was lost in translation, and I was afraid this western woman, who I had come to trust and relax around a bit, was coming on to me like all the stories of how wanton these devil women are...

In any case when I got the letter from the university admissions I understood what was being offered to me, this opportunity so much beyond even my most hopeful aspirations... She had used my field notes and reports to her as grounds for my admission, had used her contacts within the faculty. It still baffles me how she accomplished this in so short a time, and how amazing for me it was that it was done before her sudden death.

I tried to pray for her, to send my thanks to Allah to pass to her, but I could not stop crying.

I have come so far in the last... what has it been? 6 years? 7?

This email forwarded to me from an American secondary school student; could it be that I am given a way to honor my first true mentor?

Perhaps, perhaps not, but I know I must answer this letter. First simply to learn where these questions come from to know how to answer. The boy writes as a student, but I feel that this is more important to him than school research.


	39. Rational Decision

- set during the time Brennan is away guest lecturing. -

* * *

All it took was a phone call to bring the rest of the world back. Was it foolish for her to have gotten so caught up in personal desires? A complicated question, made more so by the subjectivity of several of the arguments both pro and con.

Was it really such a good idea to have a baby at this time? Probably. She did want a progeny, even if admittedly much of it's upbringing would be left to a nanny. It was better to procreate now before she passed her prime child bearing age. She would make sure that she could hire someone who was at the top of their field; she had the means to do that. And she had begun making plans to adjust her schedule to allow for bonding and participation in her child's early cognitive development.

In the last few months she had been fulfilling her duties to her students, providing expert assistance to various institutions, colleagues, and governments when asked, but had not gone on any digs. She had published only two papers in the last year, and while she was advising several students, she had not been as dedicated to her work since Zack's incarceration.

If she wished to maintain her position in the academic community she would need to refocus somewhat. Doing that as well as maintaining her partnership with Booth when they had a case needing her expertise would limit the time available for parenting. When she got back she had planned to hire an assistant to manage her time. The timeline was now somewhat altered by this obligation recurring at such an inopportune time; she was planning to cut down her list of obligations. A substantial reassessment of priorities of her time use.

But first she would need to go on the dig the phone call had just informed her of. It was not an option; she was obligated to finish what she had started. The state department had finally found a suspected site for that business almost four years ago, and she had been asked to return. The whole thing was classified, so she could not even tell Booth the details, but she would need to tell him something. He was likely to be even more unnecessarily protective once he knew of her insemination, presuming it was confirmed. If it turned out that the insemination had not taken she would be better off waiting until after the dig to try again, which would require an additional time line planned for that possibility.

Brennan opened a new calendar on her computer and began work on an alternate plan. Keeping her mind focused on pragmatic considerations and pushing away any nagging thought of consulting the father. This was her choice not his, involving Booth further would be irrational, a purely emotional act. He had been reluctant to participate at all, it would not be necessary to force further involvement on him.

* * *

**I have nothing to say. Please give feedback. Hope you enjoy regardless. Still unbetaed, let me know if you wanna.  
**


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